


Fifteen Months

by eilonwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Hogwarts Professors, Magic, Parenthood, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Hermione Granger, Psychological Trauma, Rituals, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy
Summary: Draco has finally accepted the inescapable reality of the devastating, trauma-induced illness that has plagued him for years.  Now he must deal with it, at last, for any chance at all of a healthy relationship with his young son.  He must also find a way into the heart of the woman who now holds his.Note: This story is a "missing scenes" sequel to "Behind Grey Eyes."  It explores the fifteen months between chapter eight and chapter nine/the epilogue of "BGE."  Thanks to two of my readers for the idea!  If you haven't yet read "Behind Grey Eyes," please read that fic first.  "Fifteen Months" will make much more sense if you do.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 53
Kudos: 59





	1. July to September 2016, Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my divine beta and very good friend, mister_otter! We had the idea of posing a challenge to ourselves, with the simple prompt,"Professor Draco Malfoy." Behind Grey Eyes, Fifteen Months, and a delightful new fic of hers are the products of that challenge.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50804099168/in/dateposted-public/)

Fifteen Months: A ‘Missing Scenes’ Sequel to ‘Behind Grey Eyes’

Mid-July 2016

The light in the room was dim – the wan, milky light of very early morning mere moments before dawn, seeping in through half-drawn shades. Standing quite still, he was barely able to breathe. He was vaguely and then acutely aware of his state of undress; clad only in thin pyjama trousers sitting low on his narrow hips, his feet bare, he felt a sudden chill that left his arms covered in goose flesh.

Backlit by the light from the window, she remained motionless as she returned his gaze. Her hair fell in careless, luxuriant waves about her bare shoulders, her thin shift dropping to the floor in gauzy, near-transparent folds.

Moving forward, propelled by an indefinable urge he was unable to ignore, he drew closer to her. Now he could smell the faint but inviting scent of vanilla. At last, he stood close enough that he could lay his cheek against the soft hair at the top of her head, where the pleasing scent was stronger. His hands found her slender waist and lingered there.

She allowed this briefly and then raised her head to look at him. He was so close now that he could feel her breathing, feel her diaphragm moving up and down. She was trembling.

“Hermione…” he whispered, and then again, more urgently, “Hermione…”

Lifting her chin, she smiled in response, the early-morning light washing over her slender form and casting the space around her into deep shadow. Her eyes fluttered and then closed, her lips parting slightly in invitation. 

Unassailable need drove him. Bending his head, he pressed his mouth to hers, felt the warmth and pliant softness of her lips, drank in the sweetness of her breath. He wanted desperately to devour her goodness and light, take it into himself, let himself drown in it. _This_ time… this time, he _would_ have her… 

Sunshine streaming in through the opening in the drapes pried his lids open, and just like that, the beautiful dream melted into the ether. The waking world – inescapable, relentless _reality_ – had claimed him, as it did every morning, and once again, what he so eagerly sought night after night slipped out of his grasp. But who was he kidding, anyway? This dream was the product of a fevered imagination and a hell of a lot of wishful thinking he’d kept very much to himself. Granger could be right here in her Hogwarts rooms, just a short walk away from his own quarters, and what he’d dreamt about would still be no more than a fantasy. 

Throwing back the covers, Draco Malfoy sighed and got to his feet, bare toes curling in protest against the cold stone floor. Shivering, he drew his dressing gown on, wrapping it around himself against the chill of the ancient castle, which never got warm no matter what the season. Reality. His was staring him in the face, as it did every morning. Granger and her children had been gone for two weeks now. They’d returned to their home in suburban London for the long summer holidays. He had heard from them, of course. There had been several owl messages and Floo calls. Rose and Hugo had sent him some crayon drawings, which had made him smile. He’d even had a couple of brief letters from Scorpius as well, and those he treasured, short as they were. But for all intents and purposes, he was alone.

Alone and facing a task he dreaded, one he’d avoided for far too long already.  
  
  


*

Early August 2016  
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I am Winifred Grey. Please… make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

The tiny woman bustled about her office with surprising grace considering her advanced age, moving stacks of loose parchments from her desk to boxes lining the bookcases. Muttering to herself, she shook her head from time to time in apparent exasperation, frizzy tendrils of dark hair threaded liberally with streaks of grey coming undone from the bun at the nape of her neck. At last, she turned back to face Draco, who had been watching all this activity with some bemusement.

“Don’t mind me,” the woman grinned. “I thrive on chaos. Organized chaos, that is.” She chuckled, amused at her own joke, and adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of her nose. “Now what may I do for you?”

“You’re a healer. I’m hoping,” he replied, “that you can help me. I’m… well, I’m… that is to say… I’m ill. Not physically,” he hastened to add at the look of sudden alarm on her face. “My illness is… it’s more…”

“Emotional?” she interjected quietly, kindness in her eyes.

He nodded. “I have these dreadful nightmares, you see. I’ve had them for years. Twenty years, to be specific. Ever since just before the war. I… my father was a Death Eater. I was…”

“I know who your father is, Mr. Malfoy,” the healer said matter-of-factly, but there was no judgment in her expression. “What happened twenty years ago?”

For a moment, Draco was stopped dead in his tracks. Where to begin, when thinking back to a time he’d done his level best to thoroughly repress for so many years? Fragments of past horrors had persisted in colouring his dreams at night, but during the daytime, at least, he’d succeeded in squashing them down so that only faint tendrils of painful memory could reach out and insinuate themselves into his waking thoughts. Healer Grey would have him open the floodgates, allowing all the blackness and ugliness to engulf him once again. But he supposed that there was nothing else for it. Not if he wanted to truly heal at last and set his life on a very different course.

Pressing fingers to his temples, which had begun to throb, he looked up at last. “I suppose it all began with the Vanishing Cabinet. No, wait. That’s not true. It was in my fifth year at Hogwarts, actually. With Dolores Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad.”

“You were a member, I take it?”

He nodded.

“Tell me about that. Who was she, and what did she require of you?” Winifred Grey sat back in her leather swivel chair, the tips of her fingers drawn together in an almost prayerful attitude as she listened, her gaze on Draco unwavering.

“She was a powerful ally of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. She began as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and managed to get rid of Dumbledore and get herself appointed Headmistress, as well as High Inquisitor. She was power-hungry and driven, a real sadist. She enjoyed hurting people, punishing them. She enjoyed punishing _kids_. She had this quill… it didn’t need ink. It would carve whatever you were writing into the back of your hand and the words would appear on the parchment in your blood.” Draco shuddered, remembering.

“And… you experienced this yourself, did you?”

He nodded again. His face was pale. “Yes. If somehow we disappointed her, if we didn’t carry out her orders to the letter, we’d get lines with The Quill.” He laughed bitterly. It was an ugly sound. “You can bet we learnt very quickly not to disappoint her.”

Winifred Grey pursed her lips, the anger and revulsion in her eyes evident. “What exactly did you do as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, Mr. Malfoy?”

“We were her spies, you see. We sneaked about, listening at keyholes and trying to catch other students doing things that had been forbidden. Which was virtually everything! And of course, whenever we caught someone in the act, we brought them to Umbridge for the punishment we would do anything to avoid getting ourselves.”

The mere recounting of such a shameful period in his life had started the gooseflesh prickling at the back of his neck. He stared down, his hands twisting uncomfortably in his lap. “We were rats, essentially. Goons. Her creatures. We did as we were told. My father specifically instructed me not to make an enemy of her. I was to kiss her arse and make nice. A divided Ministry, hence a divided wizarding community as a whole, was all part of The Dark Lord’s master plan. Divide and conquer. Set factions against each other. Get Dumbledore out of the way. Break down defences. At that point, Fudge still refused to believe that Voldemort had returned. Umbridge happily supported that notion, despite a ton of evidence to the contrary. I knew she and Fudge were dead wrong, of course. But I was told to keep my head down, ingratiate myself with her, and do as I was told.”

“And how did you feel about all that?”

Draco’s mouth twisted in an ugly, self-deprecating smile. “At first, it was great. Everybody was scared of me. I liked that. It made me feel important. Powerful. Until…”

“Until?” Healer Grey prodded gently.

“Until the first one of us on the Squad got The Quill. Her cruelty was no longer even remotely disguised. She had no reason to sugarcoat anything. She knew we would do what she ordered. By that time, we were too scared to do anything else. It was down to following orders or being punished ourselves. Better anybody else but me. That’s what I thought.”

“Purely practical decision. Simple survival.”

Draco exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Exactly.”

Healer Grey nodded. “I see. And once you saw things as they really were, then what?”

“Well, then, of course, I began to dread every single day. I really didn’t want to catch anyone doing something on the forbidden list. But we had a fucking _quota._. She actually made us stick to a set number. ‘Oh, Mr. Malfoy,’ she would say in that insipid voice of hers whenever I’d brought her a victim. ‘Excellent work! Simply excellent! Twenty points to Slytherin!’” He shivered despite the summer warmth of the office. “But of course, there was always at least one of us who’d failed to satisfy her for one reason or another, and that person was made to do lines in front of the rest of us. You know, for the educational value of the thing. I still have the scars.” He thrust his arm out, the back of his hand displayed almost in defiance. “See? You can just about still read what was carved there.”

“‘ _Obedience first_ ,’” the healer murmured, her mouth tight with disgust. “She sounds monstrous. And of course, once she had all of you under her thumb, so to speak, there was no way out.”

Draco sighed. “Right. That’s when the nightmares began. They were vague and unformed at first. I never remembered what I’d dreamt about the next morning. I just had the impression of screaming and pain and blood. That changed later, of course,” he added grimly. 

Healer Grey glanced at the clock on the mantel and then turned her calm gaze on Draco, who was clearly agitated now. "Listen very carefully, please," she told him, her steady, kindly voice remarkably comforting. 

He nodded his acquiescence, breathing raggedly.

“Good. I want you to take a very deep breath through your nose… that’s it… hold it for a couple of moments… good… and now release it through your mouth.” She watched as he obeyed her instructions. “Excellent. And again, if you please.”

Several breaths later, the agitation had left Draco’s face. Lines of tension had dissolved and he looked measurably more relaxed than he had a few minutes earlier.

“I want you to practice this relaxation technique at least twice a day routinely, and whenever you feel anxiety coming on as well,” she instructed. “In addition, I would like you to keep a journal, both for your dreams and also for any random thoughts you might have, especially when the memories make their presence known.” She held out a leather-bound book, its pages blank. “This is a very special journal, you know. You need only speak to it and it will record whatever you say, if you should prefer to speak your entry rather than write it. You may also instruct it to erase something you choose not to keep or would like to rephrase. I would like to see you again next week at your convenience. I do believe I can help you. But it will take work. And it won’t be easy. Are you ready for that?”

It was what he’d dreaded hearing but also what he’d hoped most to be told. He’d lived with the horror for more than half of his life. It was time to reclaim whatever years remained and make himself whole again. There were special people in his life now, the image of their faces his only solace, a life raft in a sea of bile and grief that would only continue to corrode. He would grab onto that life raft now.

“Yes,” he replied firmly. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  
  
  


*

__11 August 2016  
Thursday_ _

_Dear Father,_ the letter, scrawled in a messy quill scratch, read.  


_How are you? I am fine. Grandmere says I am to write on Wednesdays and Sundays in case you are lonely. Mummy has gone away to France for a month with her friend Mr. Whitcomb. I don’t like him. He brings me presents but he is not nice. Mummy likes him a lot. She said they are going to get married. If they do, can I stay here with Grandmere and Grandpere? Or with you? I will be at Hogwarts in a year anyway. Can I please come early, like Rose and Hugo? I promise I will be good. PLEASE?  
_

_Your son,  
_

_Scorpius_

_P.S. Please write back!_  
  
  
Draco rolled up the parchment with a small chuckle. His son was nothing if not persistent. This was the third letter he’d received in relatively quick succession containing that request. The wording was identical, but the size of the “please” had grown in direct response to Scorpius’ sense of urgency. It was clear that he did not want to live with a potential stepfather, particularly one he already found objectionable. Idly, Draco wondered why, and then alarm bells began ringing in his head. From all that he knew, Scorpius was a fairly easy-going little boy as a rule. He was not demanding, finicky, or spoiled, pretty remarkable considering who had raised him. Draco included his own parents in that assessment, though it appeared that his mother, at least, had learned a lesson from raising him. He recognised, now, that he’d been impossibly spoiled, entitled, demanding, and obnoxious, and the responsibility for that behaviour had fallen squarely on his parents. Draco could only assume that she’d made a conscious decision to avoid that same mistake with Scorpius. No doubt the outcome and lessons of the war had had some bearing on this new way of thinking. He wondered how committed Lucius was to this new path. 

The point was, if Scorpius objected this strenuously to living with Astoria and her soon-to-be new husband, the bloke must really be a pillock. Clearly, his son had launched a campaign and it was now in full swing.

Draco grinned. Points to Scorpius for his tenacity. And then he sat back, stretching his long legs out and gazing out the window to the castle grounds and beyond, the lake. For a moment, he spotted the tip of a scaly tentacle, which then slipped noiselessly beneath the surface of the dark water.

Scorpius’ request was not really an outlandish one. After all, Granger’s kids were already established at Hogwarts. They’d been there since January and like Scorpius, Rose would have another full year before she would enter officially. McGonagall had provided private tutoring for Rose and Hugo. What would one more child be? He felt certain the headmistress would allow his son to come and live with him, especially given Draco’s current efforts to establish a healthy relationship with Scorpius. She was an old softie at heart; this he knew. 

Well, then. He would go to the Manor at the weekend and broach the idea to Narcissa and Lucius. Legally, he still had joint custody, though up to now, he hadn’t availed himself of its benefits, allowing Astoria to call the shots. But with a second marriage in the offing, things could go one of two ways: either she’d be delighted to have Scorpius off her hands, or she might just file for full custody and then disappear with their child, just for spite. Well, _that_ was not about to happen, not if Draco had anything to say about it!

For now, there was a letter requiring an immediate reply. Smiling, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dipped his quill into the inkpot, and began to write.  
  
  


*

That evening, a sudden disturbance in the hearth drew Draco’s attention away from the book he’d been trying to work up some genuine interest in. A Floo call was on the way, and eagerly, he drew his chair a bit closer to the fire in anticipation. A moment later, Hermione’s head popped into view in the wavy flames.

“Hello, Malfoy!” she said brightly. “It’s been a little while, so I thought I’d check up on you. The kids gave me strict orders. Are you busy?”

“Not at all,” he lied and then added, grinning, “Just a fairly dismal book that I needed rescuing from. Thanks! It’s… it’s good to see you, Granger. How are you?”

“No complaints. Well, just one, actually. Rosie and Hugo are missing Scorpius. I think they miss you too, to be honest.” 

Touched, Draco smiled a bit wistfully. “I miss them as well.” _And you._ “And I’m sure Scorpius does. You know, he’s asked to come and live with me, here at Hogwarts. Did I tell you?”

Hermione looked genuinely startled. “No! You didn’t! Oh, but that’s simply wonderful! Have you seen him at all since term ended?”

Draco sighed deeply, leaning back in the old armchair. “Only briefly. Most of the past month, Astoria took him on holiday to see her parents in Monaco. They’ve got a summer place there. But I will be seeing him this weekend at the Manor, actually, and I was hoping to bring him back here for a bit.”

“Yes, but will you have him come and live with you permanently?” Hermione began talking very fast, her excitement evident. “It would be perfect, really… McGonagall will surely have no objection to another child in residence, after my two… I know she won’t want to lose you as potions master… Oh, and Scorpius can take daily lessons with Rosie and Hugo… It will be wonderful! Oh my gosh, they’ll be so excited!” she enthused, so caught up in her own delight at the prospect that she seemed to have momentarily forgotten all about Draco.

“Whoa! Steady on, Granger!” he laughed. “You’re getting just a bit ahead of yourself! Nothing’s been decided yet.” His demeanour turned serious then as a sudden realisation intruded. “It’ll mean some big adjustments, won’t it. Having him here all the time, I mean. For both of us. I’m not used to being a dad. I’ve never had to be responsible for a child all the time, like you have. You’ve grown into the role of parent over time. You’ve had loads of practice. I won’t know what the hell I’m doing. And what if… what if I have one of my nightmares?” He scowled into the flames, feeling a surge of panic. “I don’t want to expose him to that! He’ll think I'm barking!”

How had he not thought of this before? Even after all those years of neglect, the thought that he could really be forgiven – that Scorpius genuinely wanted to live there with him – had so thrilled him that for just a few hours, he’d forgotten the very reason he’d stayed away from his son for so long in the first place. 

And then Hermione suddenly materialised fully out of the flames and stepped into Draco’s sitting room. Reaching out, she placed calming hands in his and gave them a quick squeeze.

“It’ll be all right. Just… take a breath. Now who’s getting ahead of himself?” She smiled encouragingly as his panic began to fade a little. “If you do decide to have him come and live with you, we’ll be here to help whenever you need us. _I’ll_ be here. Promise.”

She glanced around and then turned her gaze back to him, her eyes suddenly alight with an idea. “Would you… would you like me to stay for a bit? I could, if you like.” At his questioning look, she hastened to add, “The kids are fine; they’re at my parents’ house for a few days. Better yet… would you like to get out of here for a couple of days and come back with me to my house? You could go directly to Wiltshire from there on Saturday morning. You’d be doing me a favour too, really.” She chuckled. “It’s a bit too quiet at home with the kids away.”

It took all of ten seconds for Draco to make up his mind. Hogwarts Castle in the summer could be a gloomy, preternaturally quiet place, not to mention the chill and the damp that got into one’s very bones. Even the ghosts seemed to be on holiday. 

“Well… okay,” he replied, flashing her a quick grin that was part relief, part thanks, and part curiosity. There was another bit too, but he didn’t allow himself to even begin to entertain that thought. He had no idea whether she had even the most remote interest in him as anything more than a colleague, old schoolmate with baggage, and new friend. _This could be a way for you to test the waters,_ a voice inside his head reminded him, elated and gleeful. _You’d be an absolute arse not to go._

One could say many things about Draco Malfoy. Being an arse, absolute or otherwise, was not one of them. At least not anymore.

“Thanks, Granger,” he told her, suddenly feeling curiously buoyant inside. “I’ll just get a few things together. Won't be a minute.”

Ten minutes later, they stepped out of her hearth and Draco found himself surveying Hermione’s comfortably lived-in sitting room.  
The contrast between his own childhood home, his rooms at Hogwarts, and this house couldn’t have been more stark. The rich elegance of Malfoy Manor with all its grand traditions and formality– a “look but don’t touch” feeling – was immediately apparent to all. Hogwarts was ancient too, of course, much older than the Manor. That history added another layer, cold and dank, full of shadows and mystery and hidden places. If one knew where to look, there were stairs that led away from the light and clamour of the living to the haunts of the long dead. His own rooms at the school were comfortable enough, but far too silent. Too much opportunity for brooding and introspection, for dwelling on the nightmares that still clutched at him in the realms of restless sleep.

Hermione’s sitting room was bright and warm. Tall bookcases lined one long wall, crammed with books, knick knacks and framed photos, candles and bunches of sage and other dried herbs in bowls, and little art projects made by Rose and Hugo. Walls that weren’t covered by bookcases were adorned with framed art posters that added splashes of colour to the cream walls. There was a squashy sofa upholstered in a tweedy taupe fabric, with large throw pillows in tomato red, turquoise, and purple. Matching armchairs, overstuffed and a bit threadbare, sat on either side of the sofa, facing the stone fireplace. Dark beams traversed the ceiling, attesting to the age of the cottage. A bay window, complete with a cosy window seat, looked out on the front garden. Altogether, it was very much Hermione’s, from floor to ceiling. If a house can tell its owner’s story, this one spoke volumes.

“Welcome to my house!” she announced. “Please make yourself comfortable. You’ll have Hugo’s room, if that’s all right. You don’t mind sleeping there, do you? Somehow, I expect you'll prefer being surrounded by Quidditch posters and a dead bug collection to a lot of dolls and frilly things. And it’s better than the sofa.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco mused airily. “Isn’t that rather a sexist presumption, Professor Granger? Tsk.” He cast a decidedly wicked glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, I like frilly things. On the right person.”

The second the teasing words were out of his mouth, he wished he could stuff them back in. What in Merlin’s name had he been thinking, coming on to Hermione that way? He hadn’t been in her house five minutes! This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to proceed at all. Not with her. An altogether different approach was called for where Hermione was concerned. Subtlety. Finesse. Sincerity. 

He slanted a quick look at her to gauge her mood and assess the damage. He saw surprise and then a tiny smirk, as if she were just managing to bite back a nervous giggle. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she continued, “as I was saying… I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping and where the bathroom is. Follow me.”

Turning, she headed towards the staircase without a backward glance. Draco followed, still irritated with himself as they reached the upstairs landing.

“Right, that’s Hugo’s room,” Hermione told him, pointing to the left. “That pink one in the middle is Rosie’s, and the one on the far right down the hall is mine. The kids’ bathroom is just there. Whilst you settle in, I’ll make some coffee. Actually, on second thought, have you eaten yet? Because I haven’t. And I’ve a lovely quiche in the fridge that we could have.”

“Quiche sounds good,” he told her. “I’ll just…” He began to move towards Hugo’s room and then paused. “All right if I have a quick wash first?”

She nodded, gesturing towards the bathroom. “There are clean towels on the hamper. Nothing’s magicked in the house, I’m afraid. We try to keep the spell work to a minimum when we’re at home. It doesn’t do to be careless, living amongst Muggles.”

Ten minutes later, freshly showered, his pale hair still damp, Draco emerged from Hugo’s room in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers, and a dressing gown. There was a heavenly smell wafting upstairs from the kitchen and he followed his nose.

Hermione was bustling about the kitchen, serving wedges of quiche and bowls of crisp, green salad. A chilled bottle of white wine was already on the table, along with a pair of glasses.

She smiled, gesturing towards the table. “I thought wine would be nice with the quiche. We can have coffee later, if you like. Please… sit,” she added, her cheeks faintly pink.

Flushed with exertion in the warm kitchen, no doubt, Draco mused. That blush was quite fetching, though. “I’ll pour the wine, shall I?” he asked, reaching for the bottle. “Riesling. Good choice.”

“I hope this is all right,” she began. “When the kids are away, I tend not to think too much about what I’m eating. Sometimes, supplies get rather low. I’m a big fan of breakfast for supper. Often, it’s just scrambled eggs on toast. You’re in luck that I happened to have this quiche tonight.”

“I like scrambled eggs too,” he said quietly, catching her eye. He hoped that the larger message behind those innocuous words had resonated. She needed to understand that he wasn’t the person he had been for so much of his early life. 

Hermione cast a furtive glance at him, a curiously enigmatic expression on her face, and then she busied herself once again with setting out the cutlery. At last, she sat down, facing Draco. An awkward moment followed, in which neither of them knew what to say next. They focused on taking first bites of the food instead. 

“Did you make this yourself?” Draco asked eventually. “It’s delicious.”

A second blush pinked her cheeks then, and she smiled, pleased. “Yes, though cooking’s really not very complicated, you know. If you can follow potion instructions, you can cook.” She paused. Suddenly, the meal looked far too meagre and simple. “I suppose you’re used to haute cuisine when you’re at the Manor.”

He rolled his eyes, recollecting, and nodded. “Mother is a bit of a gourmand. And she thought it important, when I was a child, that I be well versed in the finer points of haute cuisine, mostly French. She’s always maintained that the English notion of fine dining amounts to beans on toast.”

Hermione giggled, and the awkwardness evaporated further. “I rather like beans on toast,” she confessed.

A corner of Draco’s mouth rose in a crooked grin. “So do I. I dare not tell her that, though.” He chuckled, his laughter joining hers. “I often eat it at school when I can’t be bothered going down to the Great Hall to eat.”

“You’re in good company,” she sighed. “It’s Hugo’s favourite as well. He likes his toast liberally buttered and a slice of very fatty bacon on top of the beans.”

“That sounds most appealing,” Draco decided, straight-faced. With a wink, he turned his attention back to the remains of quiche on his plate.

Had he really just winked? The sheer surprise of it had startled both of them, for different reasons. 

Embarrassment and an excruciating wave of vulnerability swept over him now. Very dangerous, exposing one’s feelings that way, even in something as small and seemingly insignificant as a wink. Were they really on those sorts of easy, intimate terms? ‘I think not,’ his inner voice decided firmly. He resolved to keep a tighter grip on his feelings. It would not do to lay himself bare before her. She did not cherish similar feelings for him, he was fairly certain of that much anyway. Much safer to assume that as far as she was concerned, they were just friends. That in itself was already a big enough surprise and certainly nothing anyone who knew both of them could ever have predicted in a thousand years. He took another bite of his quiche, studying his plate intently. He would have to be far more careful, far more guarded and measured in his behaviour.

For Hermione, the surprise was just as sudden. Malfoy, relaxed and unbuttoned enough to be playful with her? Who was this tall, naturally elegant man sitting at her kitchen table in his dressing gown and pyjamas, winking at her as if he’d known her for ages? (Well, of course, he _had_ done, hadn’t he. But did all those years of enmity count?) When had he begun to really unbend and actually be a human being around her? She tried to think, reviewing the last six months at Hogwarts. Apparently, he’d thought better of it immediately, though, because he was already looking distinctly uncomfortable and a bit withdrawn. The fact remained, however, that this was the second time tonight that he’d shown her a less controlled side of himself. That he actually liked her enough to joke around with her. ( _To flirt with you_ , her inner voice piped up. But that was ridiculous, of course, her common-sense self reminded her. They were simply friends, or at least on the way to being. He’d never be interested in her _that_ way. It was just Malfoy being Malfoy. He’d had a reputation as a flirt even as far back as their third year at school. He couldn’t help himself.)

They lapsed back into an awkward silence for the duration of the meal.

“Coffee, I think,” she murmured at last, rising from her chair to gather the dirty plates and silverware. “Or would you prefer tea?”

“Coffee, definitely,” Draco replied. On the verge of asking if he might assist her in some way, he bit his tongue, swallowing the words. 

Instead, he merely watched as she moved with natural grace about the kitchen, feeling like an utter fool. 

Drawing the louvered shutters closed over the window above the sink, she pointed a finger at the dirty dishes. “Scourgify!”

“Wandless. Nice,” he remarked. “Thought you said you avoid doing magic here.”

“Generally, I do,” she replied, continuing to tidy up “But I feel a bit freer when I’m on my own and can control it. I’m just nervous about the kids causing things to happen that they can’t control. We've had several accidents that could have raised more than a few eyebrows, if our neighbours had seen anything.”

“Why live in a mixed neighbourhood, then?” he couldn’t help asking. “I mean, I assume it’s at least mixed, not just all Muggle.”

She nodded, turning from the coffee she was preparing. “Yes, that’s true. Though I think it’s probably at least two-thirds Muggle at this point. Buying here was really my doing, not Ron’s. I wanted our kids to grow up knowing how people who are different live. I wanted them to know the world I grew up in, the world their grandparents are a part of. It’s part of their heritage too. I want them to be able to move freely between the two worlds and be equally comfortable in both. And finally… well, finally, I wanted them to understand that in the end, people are just… people. Nobody’s inherently better or more worthy.”

Food for thought, though not at all surprising, considering whose words they were. The sentiments were worlds away from what he’d always believed. Those antiquated ideas seemed alien and particularly hidebound, considering them in light of the setting in which he found himself now. 

“And… Weasel…uh, Weasley was okay with this decision, was he?” he couldn’t help asking.

Hermione smiled ruefully. “Not really. I’m afraid I rather browbeat him into it. But in the end, he went along. I didn’t give him much choice. I think he gave in just to stop me going on about it.”

She turned her back to pour the coffee and serve slices of cake, and Draco smirked. That sounded just like Weaselby. Allowing a woman to ride roughshod over him. No backbone. Pathetic little twat. And then, abruptly, he pulled up short, frowning. ‘Look at yourself, Malfoy,’ he thought, disgusted. ‘Astoria has run roughshod over you for years. Whose fault is that? Fucking hypocrite. Just shut it.’

What would he have done differently, in Ron’s place? Was it really only a question of who wins? Or was there a third option in a marriage? He was the last person to answer that question with any authority. That was for damned sure.

They had their coffee and cake and spent the remainder of the evening in quiet pursuits in the sitting room, Hermione curled up comfortably on the sofa with a book and Draco more closely investigating her collection of books and knick knacks. Every once in a while, he’d ask her a question about something that had piqued his curiosity, and she would look up, smile patiently, and offer a reply despite being interrupted repeatedly. At last, he could think of no further reason to stay. Best to leave her to her reading. 

“I… uh… well, reckon I’ll say goodnight, then,” he began tentatively, hoping that she might prevail upon him to stay a bit longer. 

She didn’t. Instead, she stretched and yawned, her smile now noticeably tired. “All right. I’ll be going up soon myself. Just want to finish this chapter. Goodnight, Malfoy. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” he repeated and turned to climb the stairs to Hugo’s bedroom.

It was most definitely a young boy’s room, but vastly different from his own bedroom in the Manor, even when he was a good deal younger than Hugo was now. The walls were a sunny, warm yellow. Ample shelving held all manner of toys, building blocks, books, puzzles, and games. A football lay in a corner. A Chudley Cannons poster was on one wall, Puddlemere United and the Wimborne Wasps on another, and ones for Arsenal and the Watford Rugby Club on a third. A colourful quilt – bright red with a gold lion – was on the bed, a Gryffindor muffler draped over the headboard.

Draco’s mouth twitched into a grin. No great surprise there, given Hugo’s lineage. In that respect, his boyhood room was no different. He’d known he was down for Slytherin from the time he could talk. But in all other respects, the differences between his own boyhood room and this one were marked. There had been no warm primary colours in his room. The walls and rugs were a subdued, tasteful grey. Heavy, forest-green drapes hung at the windows, matching the hangings enclosing the enormous four-poster bed that dominated the room. There were books, to be sure, and a small, first broomstick leaning against the wall in one corner. Quirky magical toys sat on the shelves. But there was no real cheer in the room, nothing that said that a lively, curious, active boy lived there. No warmth. It was a room that said, “proper, pureblood child.”

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, patterned with gently undulating, leafy shadows filtering through the trees outside the windows. He could feel himself growing sleepy, lulled by the gentle songs of crickets. It was strange, being in someone else’s bed in an unfamiliar house. Strange, being in Granger’s house at all, really. No, not just strange. Actually bizarre. But not actually unpleasant.

Granger. Suddenly, his dreams of late came back to him in a rush, and he felt himself becoming a bit unnerved as his nether regions came to life. It would not do to make a mess of her son’s bed, and he tried very hard to forget that she would soon be in a room just down the hall, if she weren’t there already. In a bed in that room, in fact. Probably very scantily clad. Perhaps even naked. (Did she sleep starkers?) The very thought sent a rush of heat straight down to his groin and he could feel himself growing rock hard.

Rolling over, he pulled the quilt up over his head, shut his eyes, and tried to clear his mind of such treacherous thoughts and images, willing himself to think of anything else under the sun as he clutched at himself for relief. Antidotes. Yes, that was it. He would name every antidote he could think of. In alphabetical order, preferably. _Ashwinder eggs, Bezoars, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Bubotuber pus, Burn-healing Paste, Deflating Draught, Dittany, Murtlap Essence, Mandrake Root…_

Eventually, he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Draco was aware of was the all-too-familiar horror of walls closing in on him and raw, relentless screaming (a woman’s far away, and then his own, joining hers)… Charity Burbage suspended upside down and twitching as she revolved, her tears splashing down to the long table below, where a huge snake was waiting… A white face with malevolent red eyes and gods! Virtually no nose at all, merely slits for nostrils!... Curses flashing green, harbingers of instant death… The mad cackle of a crazy woman delighting in the torture of a young girl… 

There was an insistent knocking sound, and then the door to the bedroom opened and Hermione rushed in, white-faced and scared. Drenched in sweat, Draco tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down, her hand on his chest.

“No, don’t try to get up just yet, Malfoy,” she told him, trying very hard to sound calm. “Try to relax for a minute. It’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream. It can’t hurt you.”

Mortified, he turned his head away and stared at the wall. Shit, did this have to happen here, tonight, right in front of her?

“Did I… did I scream?” he finally managed to mutter.

“Yes. You did.” She nodded. “Like you were being murdered. Scared the hell out of me.”

A moment passed, and then, still deeply embarrassed, he couldn’t help a brief laugh in spite of himself, and she joined him.

“Sorry, Granger.” He heaved a deep sigh and sat up at last. “Well, now you know what I’ve been living with for years. Why I stayed away from my son for so long. You’ve seen it for yourself.” 

Calmer now, he took a real look at her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. In the moonlight and shadows playing about her face, she looked ethereal, her eyes huge and dark in a very pale face. She wore a skimpy tank top and pyjama shorts, her hair falling in soft, loose waves about her shoulders. The bare skin of her arms and long, slim legs seemed almost to glow in the silvery light from the windows. She was beautiful.

Unaware of where his thoughts were taking him, Hermione was silent for a moment, gazing at him thoughtfully. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms about them. “Yes. I understand, of course. It would be terrible for Scorpius to witness something like that. I hadn’t thought… When you talked about having him come live with you at Hogwarts… well… what does your healer say about that?”

‘That’s just it,” he told her glumly. “We haven’t really discussed the possibility in any serious way yet. But I thought, you know, that maybe it could work, as I hadn’t had one of those dreams in a long time. Weeks. I really hoped… Well, I reckon I’ll have to bring it up the next time I see her. Maybe it’s just too soon.”

“When will that be? When will you see her, I mean?”

“I’m scheduled to have a session next week,” he replied dully. It seemed a lifetime away.

“Oh, good, that’s so soon!” Hermione exclaimed, sounding genuinely cheerful now. “She may not think it’s too soon at all. Or maybe she’ll suggest some sort of compromise for now. A way to ease into things a bit more gradually, while still giving you time with Scorpius. Look…” She laid a hand lightly on his arm now. “What about a cup of cocoa? Or maybe some tea? It’s what we always do whenever someone has a bad night.”

Now there was something familiar. It’s what his nanny always offered him as a young child, when he’d had a bad dream. Cocoa was sounding very good just now.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’d like that.”

“You know,” she told him a bit later, as they sat at the kitchen table over steaming cups of cocoa. “I had awful nightmares for several years after the war. I think most everyone did. There was so much terrible stuff in my head and I couldn’t get it out. I couldn’t forget about it. I had to talk to someone too.” 

Draco considered for a moment, gazing down at the foamy bubbles atop his cocoa. “And… did it help? I mean, it must have done. You seem very healthy now.”

“Yes, I suppose. Mostly. Look, you can’t go through what we all went through without some repercussions. And you went through more than most. There’s something… well, something I want to tell you. Something I don’t think you know.”

Draco regarded her curiously. “Go on,” he said evenly.

“Well,” she began, drawing in a deep breath. “I know you carry a lot of guilt about Dumbledore. About trying to kill him, I mean. But in fact, he knew that you were tasked with his murder. He knew it for months, literally all of sixth year. And he didn’t want you to have to do it, to have that terrible deed plaguing you for the rest of your life. He knew you weren’t a killer, Malfoy. And he knew you were being coerced. He also knew he was dying.”

At these revelations, Draco’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, expressions of surprise clogging in his throat.

“So he made Snape promise to kill him when the time came, to spare you. And to make his death a quick, merciful one. He’d have suffered a lot otherwise, and he knew it.”

He groaned softly, raking a hand haphazardly through his hair. “Snape… _Gods_ … He promised my mother… He made an Unbreakable Vow to her, to protect me. To do the task if I couldn’t. I had no idea he’d made the same promise to Dumbledore as well!”

Hermione nodded. “Dumbledore and Snape both knew you weren’t a killer. And you weren’t. _You never were_. No matter what Voldemort made you do.”

The shock of this new information stunned Draco into silence once again. All he could do was stare at Hermione across the table, his mind spinning. Images of that dreadful night in the Astronomy Tower came rushing back, crowding into his head in sharp relief… every feeling, every sharp tentacle of fear wrapping itself around his chest and brain and strangling all rational thought… Dumbledore, standing there, his back to the open sky beyond the tower, speaking calmly and quietly, and then gazing beyond Draco at Snape and saying, “Please.” Now he understood, and the truth was chilling. Chilling and yet, somehow, oddly liberating too, if it were true.

“How do you know all this?” he finally managed to ask.

She took a sip of cocoa and sat back, arms folded. “Harry told me. He was with Snape when he died. Snape begged him to save his memories and put them into Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Those memories told Harry quite a lot, including what led up to that night in the Astronomy Tower. You know,” she added quietly. “I asked Harry that very night whether he thought you’d have gone through with it. He said no, that you were actually lowering your wand. Harry knew you weren’t a killer too, even before he saw Snape’s memories.” 

All of this was almost too much to take in at one time. But there was a sensation of light pushing back at the dark now, just a little bit. He _wasn’t_ a killer. He never had been. He knew that much at least.

“So… are you feeling up to sleeping now? Or…” Hermione smiled wickedly. “Can I challenge you to a game of backgammon? Wizarding backgammon. I warn you, though; I take no prisoners.”

“Neither do I. Challenge accepted, Granger.” He grinned, and the two of them rose to their feet and made their way to the sitting room.

“I’ll get the game board. Perhaps you could make a nice fire. There’s plenty of wood in the basket by the hearth. It gets a bit chilly in here at three in the morning, even in the summer,” she told him over her shoulder.

With a much lighter heart, Draco nodded and began setting logs in the hearth. He’d have a good fire going in a moment. The room was comfortable, cosy, and bright, the nightmare banished to the shadows once again. He’d be able to sleep tonight.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	2. July to September 2016, Part Two

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814027703/in/dateposted-public/)

18 August 2016  
Thursday afternoon

Winifred Grey idly drummed her fingertips against the blotter on her desk as she gazed, unseeing, out the window. She was thinking, and drumming her fingertips against the nearest surface helped her to think. Her next patient would be here at any moment. It would be his third visit, and she had to admit some concern for the amount of progress he had made thus far.

It wasn’t a matter of attitude. He was certainly eager to get well. What troubled her was what he had to surmount in order to genuinely heal. The prolonged trauma he had undergone at a very young age and the insidious poison from that experience had resulted in very deep emotional wounds. There was a great deal of scarring that held him together like glue, but what was beneath that was raw and relentless in its attacks, particularly in the form of horrific nightmares. Add to that his deep-seated feelings of guilt and shame. The young man had much to surmount. Being honest, she was less sure now that she would be able to help him than she had been at the beginning, though she still held out hope. A lot would depend on how truly willing he was to confront his demons head-on. Perhaps today she could offer him a new phase of his treatment that would help him to do just that.

There was a light knock. It opened then, and Healer Grey’s assistant poked her head around the door.

“Mr. Malfoy is here to see you, Ma’am.”

Healer Grey swivelled in her chair with a smile. “Thank you, Sara. Send him in, please.”

Draco entered, seating himself in the leather chair before her desk and waiting silently. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. May I call you Draco? I think we can dispense with the formalities at this point.”

He nodded his agreement. “Yes, of course.”

Healer Grey smiled broadly. “Good. That’s settled, then. You may call me Winifred, if you’re comfortable doing that. Have you brought your journal?”

Draco reached into an inner pocket of his robes, pulling out the leather-bound book she had given him in which to record his dreams and thoughts. He leaned in across the desk to hand it to her.

Opening it, Healer Grey’s expression became pensive as she scanned the contents. Eventually, she looked back at Draco. “Would you mind very much if I read this aloud?”

He shook his head. It wasn’t exactly pleasant reading material, but then, it hadn’t been much fun writing it either. Hearing it again at this point couldn’t make the memories any worse.  
  
_7 August  
  
Fuck. Really don’t want to be bothered writing all this shite. I don’t see the point. Writing it down won’t stop the batshit-crazy nightmares.  
  
  
11 August  
  
Scorpius wants to come and live with me. I'm gobsmacked. Things must be pretty damned desperate for him to ask. His mother is apparently getting pretty cosy with some bloke that Scorpius doesn’t like much. Fucking bitch hardly pays any attention to our son as it is. Now, she’s virtually never around, if what I hear is to be believed. Mother has no reason to lie. Neither does Scorpius. He hardly knows me. So for him to ask to come and live here at Hogwarts with me, leaving the Manor and all that is familiar, things must be pretty rough. He sounds very unhappy._

_I want him with me more than anything. But how can I have him here, with me still being so fucked up? All I would have to do is have one of my really bad nightmares and he’d be messed up for life._

_And another thing. I do not know the first thing about being a father! I don’t have a fucking clue. I have never taken care of a child. I don’t know what it is for a kid to depend on me and only me. I am selfish. I like taking care of my own needs. What if having Scorpius here means I have to give up shit I really don’t want to do without? Would I come to resent him? Would I take that resentment out on him? Sometimes I wonder if that’s how my father felt when I was born. How often did I feel, growing up, as if I were a hindrance, an obstacle to his pursuits of his own pleasures. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to be a father. He didn’t seem like he knew what having a son would mean in his life. Then again, in so many pureblood families with the means, there were servants to care for the children virtually as soon as they were born. Parents didn’t have to be bothered getting covered in a variety of bodily fluids, losing sleep, dealing with kids who were cranky or difficult. They didn’t have to deal with temper tantrums. My nanny had an extraordinary amount of patience for all that stuff. And I know I could be very difficult at times. I wonder if my parents ever had the remotest clue that what I really wanted was THEM. I loved my nanny, but I wanted my father and mother. When I did get to spend some time with them, it was more like being granted a royal audience. I would not want my son subjected to such a cold and distant experience of family life. But am I ready to offer a better alternative?_

_Going to the Manor this weekend to discuss all this.  
  
  
7 pm  
  
Bloody hell. Granger has just Floo called and invited me to stay at her house for a couple of days! Gobsmacked once again. No words. I accepted the invitation. I was absurdly happy in that moment, but now I feel like an arse. I don’t want her pity. I just want her. And I don’t even understand that. I don’t understand anything anymore, least of all myself._  
  
Closing the book, Healer Grey laid it down on her desk, gazing at Draco thoughtfully. "Well, that's progress." 

“I don’t know. Is it? Why?” Draco scrutinized her skeptically.

Winifred Grey offered him a serene smile in return. “The best evidence of true progress is when one can admit to knowing and understanding nothing.”

“That sounds like a load of horseshit, if you ask me. No disrespect intended,” he hastened to add. 

This got an actual chuckle out of the healer. “Think what you like, Mr. Malfoy. You’ll have to trust me on this one, though. You’ve just revealed a great deal about yourself.”

“Such as?”

“Ah, well, I think you had better tell me that. Let’s begin with your reaction to Ms. Granger’s invitation. Why did you think she had extended it merely out of pity?”

“Because… because why the hell would she want to take on a basket case like me? For the sheer fun of it?”

“By ‘taking on,’ you mean spending a couple of days in your company?” Healer Grey asked mildly, toying with a particularly long quill.

“Well, yes, exactly!” _Stupid question._

Healer Grey had begun unconsciously tapping the end of the quill against her cheek. “So, in other words, you believe that your company, for any length of time, would be a burden? It doesn’t occur to you that perhaps she might actually enjoy being with you?”

Draco let out a derisive snort. “Maybe I haven’t adequately explained Granger’s and my history, going all the way back to when we were eleven years old and just starting school together. We hated each other. She hated me and I detested her. She was everything my parents, my father in particular, had taught me to despise: a Muggleborn. And she was a particularly irritating one, jumped up and always full of all the right answers in class. She was not supposed to be that way, so bloody smart and always excelling in absolutely everything. Mudbloods weren’t supposed to be like that. So yeah, I hated her and everything she stood for. My father…”

The healer regarded him placidly. “Yes? What about your father?”

“He was… well… I believed everything he taught me. I tried to be the model son. I tried so bloody hard. But I never felt like I’d succeeded. There was always something I was screwing up, always something that fell short of his expectations. All I wanted was… was…” Draco trailed off, his face suddenly pinched with pain.

“His approval,” Healer Grey remarked quietly. “Isn’t that it? Not too much for a child to hope for, I don’t think.”

His face darkening, he glanced away from the healer’s penetrating gaze but remained silent.

“And now you’re afraid you’re going to be exactly like him, isn’t that so? That you won’t be a fit father to your son? That in fact you _can’t_ be?”

“Fuck’s sake!” Draco shouted, rising out of his chair now and glaring at the healer. “Isn’t that patently obvious? On top of which, I am so thoroughly screwed up with these bloody nightmares, there’s no way being exposed to all that wouldn’t mess a kid about! How the hell can I, in good conscience, do that to my son?” 

There was a long moment, during which he stood before her, raking a hand through his hair and breathing raggedly. Winifred Grey rose from her seat and moved to the credenza, on which was a tea set. She busied herself preparing two cups of tea, waving her wand over the bone china and murmuring an incantation. 

“Lemon? Or cream?” she asked calmly. “Sugar?”

“Cream,” Draco muttered, heaving himself back into his seat, a flush colouring his cheeks. “Two lumps. Thanks.”

“Very good. Here you are, then,” she told him presently, setting the cup and saucer before him, along with a plate of shortbread. “Do please have a biscuit. They’re quite nice.”

For a couple of minutes, both sipped their tea, aromatic clouds of steam rising from both cups and scenting the air with the perfume of orange blossom. Draco found himself feeling remarkably better. What was in that tea anyway? Best not to ask, he decided. It had done its job.

At last, Healer Grey cleared her throat, setting her cup down with a tiny clink. “It’s quite possible that at some point, your son may indeed witness one of your nightmares. But before that can happen, before you can even consider having him come and live with you, you must tell him the truth. You must tell him what you experienced – not in graphic detail, of course – and how it has made you feel all these years. Children understand more than you realize, Draco. They understand pain and loss. But in being honest with him, in letting him know that you’ve been hurt and that you’ve wanted to protect him from similar hurt, that you’ve wanted to be strong for him but haven’t always _felt_ strong… well… you’ll be trusting him with a very important and private part of yourself. Children appreciate that sort of intimacy. They are much stronger than you know. It will enable him to understand, finally, why you have not been an active part of his life for so long, but that you want to change all that now. Does that make sense?”

Did it? Draco wasn’t sure, although there was certainly a comforting logic to what she had said. For now, he would trust her and believe.  
Slowly, he nodded. 

“Regarding Ms. Granger… from all that you’ve already told me about her, certainly including the difficult past you share with her, it seems to me that she has long since forgiven you. I think ‘pity’ is perhaps the wrong word for what she feels, where you’re concerned.”

That intriguing thought was left hanging tantalisingly as Healer Grey sat back to await a reaction. A disbelieving frown was the response.

“What, then?” he challenged, sitting up a bit straighter. “You’re not suggesting she actually _likes_ me, are you?” He let out a snort of laughter. 

Healer Grey smiled calmly and nodded. “That is precisely what I am suggesting, difficult though it might be for you to believe at this point. Let me tell you something about women, Draco. A woman who is independent and makes her own decisions generally does not do something she doesn’t wish to do, unless she is being coerced. It doesn’t sound like Ms. Granger is being forced into anything.”

“Don’t want to be a charity case,” he muttered darkly. 

“Of course you don’t. Tell me… what was your time with her like, anyway? Did you enjoy it?”

Draco considered for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, actually, I did. It was… simple. Comfortable. We had dinner. We drank some wine. We sat in her living room and read. Well, she read. I looked at the stuff she had on her shelves. Then we went to bed. Not together,” he added quickly, as Healer Grey’s eyebrows rose. “And then _of course_ , I had one of my fucking nightmares. Figures that would have happened.”

“Is that a bad thing, necessarily?”

“Hell, yes! Do I really want to be screaming my head off in the middle of the night, waking her up and scaring her half to death? Letting her see me like that?” 

Winifred Grey’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “Like what?”

“A raving lunatic, that’s what! A pathetic mess!” he replied heatedly.

“Not the man you want her to see, eh?”

“Fuck no!”

“And… a man isn’t ever permitted a moment of weakness, is that it? A man can’t ever be hurt or scared?” The healer sat back, regarding Draco with an arresting gaze.

Draco had no ready answer to this. Instead, he sat there, staring down at his fists clenched in his lap. For a moment, the two of them sat very still, a frozen tableau. Then, gradually, his fists opened and he looked up at her.

“I think… I think I am in love with her,” he said at last, his voice very low. “And I don’t know why.”

“I think you do, Draco,” Healer Grey said kindly. “What happened after your nightmare? How did she react?”

“Like a friend,” he answered quickly, without even thinking, and then stopped short. It was really true. “Yeah. Like a friend who actually cared. She made us cocoa and we talked for hours. We even played backgammon at three in the morning, because I couldn’t sleep. She told me things I hadn’t known… about… about the night that I tried to kill Professor Dumbledore. The night I let in the Death Eaters. Dumbledore knew Voldemort had set me up… set me up to fail… and that he was dying. That he’d already planned his own death and _Snape_ was to kill him, not me. That I wasn’t a killer, not really.”

“And how did that new knowledge make you feel?” 

“Strange. Shocked. Relieved, really. I couldn’t believe it.” Draco shook his head, as if to banish the cobwebs of painful memory that had crept into his thoughts. “I still can’t. She didn’t have to tell me all that.”

“But she did. And why do you suppose she did that?”

He sat back now, looking just slightly dazed. “Dunno, really. Because she felt sorry for me?”

“No! Though I think she certainly did feel _something_ for you. _Does_ feel something, I should say. It’s called compassion. Empathy. Feelings we have for those about whom we care a great deal. It wasn’t merely pity. That’s far too narrow an emotion, and you could feel the truth of that yourself.” She paused. “What happened after that?”

“Well,” Draco recalled, “eventually I was able to sleep. The next day I left for my parents’ house. To be honest, I really didn’t want to leave. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what, exactly?”

“That it was more than physical desire. That it was Hermione herself. That with her, I felt…” He paused, the word that was on the tip of his tongue making him feel embarrassed somehow. Weak.

“Felt what?” Healer Grey pressed.

“Safe,” he gritted out at last, a rush of shame sweeping over him. 

“That,” Winifred Grey informed him with a broad smile, “is what love is all about. Making the loved one feel safe and secure, totally at home. If you feel that, then I don’t doubt that you love her. It’s quite evident why. You’ve just answered your own question, Draco. Now look,” she continued briskly. “I am going to give you a potion I want you to begin taking regularly. Once a day, mind. An hour before bed. No more than that. It’s a powder, which you will prepare the way you would loose tea. The mixing instructions are in the packet. Oh, and drink it hot. It works best that way.”

“What’s in it? What does it do?” he asked, as she pressed a small packet into his palm.

“It’s a very powerful calming potion that I hope and expect will ease your dream experiences. While it won’t prevent the nightmares, it will help your subconscious mind fight off the horrors, dissipating them. It contains a dash of Ashwagandha, the stem and root of the Eleuthero plant, the crushed seed and fruit of the Zizyphus jujube plant, Nutgrass, and Astralagus root. Oh, and extract of the Griffonia simplicifolia seed. It’s quite potent, and if it works as I hope it will, your nightmares will be rendered quite harmless.”

She stood then, holding out her hand to him with a warm smile. “I want to see you next week. Start the potion tonight. If you have an extreme reaction to it, stop taking it immediately and let me know. Do please continue with your journal as well. I look forward to talking with you again, Draco. You’ve made tremendous progress today.”

Tremendous progress? He looked at her dubiously even as he shook her hand. Later, back home in his rooms at the school, he thought about what had transpired earlier that day. Pulling his journal towards him, he dipped his quill in the inkpot and began to write.  
  
  


*

_21 August  
Sunday evening_

_Well, for better or worse, it’s done. This afternoon, I told Scorpius everything, or at least everything I could be sure he’d understand without scaring the hell out of him. The last thing I want now is to give him nightmares!_

_The surprising thing was, he seemed very calm about the whole thing. As if he’d heard it all before. Unless Mother or Father spoke to him sometime in the past, and I can’t really imagine they would have done, I don’t know how else he’d have heard all this shit. Either that or my son is just unusually mature for a ten-year-old. Or maybe he’s just too young to really get it. Maybe it was all like some fantastical horror story to him. I can’t be sure. I can only imagine how it would have come across to him, though, especially the bits about targeting and hurting Muggles. I did not go into any sort of graphic detail about all that. It was enough that the horror of all that was fresh in my own mind once again, even when making broad references to it. But I did tell him that I had bad dreams sometimes about things that had really scared me._

_How do you explain to your child that you’d made a shitload of mistakes, growing up? That listening to your parents and believing them actually did you harm? These are my son’s grandparents. How does that sort of thing come across?_ “Your Grandmere and Grandpere are lovely people, but they really fucked me up when I was your age and for years afterward.” _Right._

_As it was, I tried to downplay their role. I told him that lots of people back then felt the same way, that they’d all been fooled, taken in by Voldemort. And that I had been fooled as well, along with all my friends. That Voldemort was a very bad man, a very dangerous, power-mad wizard. We were taught a load of rubbish and we believed it all._

_At one point, he said, “So you and Grandmere and Grandpere really believed that Muggleborns were not entitled to be witches and wizards? You mean, people like Professor Granger?”_

_All I could do was nod and try to explain that I no longer believed such nonsense, that it simply wasn’t true. He was watching me very carefully, I could tell, and listening very hard. When I had finished, Scorpius was very quiet for a while. Then, he came over to where I was sitting and put his hand on my arm. It was a small, tentative gesture, almost as if he thought I might still push him away. Then he looked at me and his eyes were huge. And he said, “It’s okay, Dad. I know you’re trying to get better. I have nightmares too, sometimes.” Then he gave me a little smile. It was all I could do not to grab him and hug him very tightly._

_Then he said he still wanted to come and live with me, if I didn’t mind. Didn’t mind? I was over the moon! And then I did hug him, and he let me. _

_So, in exactly one week, he and I will be travelling to Hogwarts together. Astoria has nothing to say about it. I’ve got years of joint custody to catch up on, and I really don’t give a rat’s arse what she thinks or if she objects. By the time she returns from her latest little jaunt with her boyfriend, we’ll be long gone._  
  
  


*

1 September  
Thursday, early evening

The Hogwarts Express had done its time-honoured job of transporting a horde of new and returning students to Hogsmeade, and it had arrived bang on schedule. By the time they had all been conveyed to the school, the first-years crossing the lake by boat and the rest arriving by thestrel-driven carriages, it was close to five pm. There would be just over an hour to get to their dormitories and unpack before everyone was expected in the Great Hall for the Sorting ceremony and welcoming feast.

Hermione and her children, ten-year-old Rose and Hugo, nearly eight, had got themselves comfortably settled in their rooms and now the children were racing about in a game of Tag. 

“That’s not fair, Hugo!” Rose shouted, as she ran from their room to the sitting room, chasing after her younger brother. “It doesn’t count if you tag me when I’m in the loo!”

“It does too count! There are no rules about peeing!” Hugo laughed. 

“Mum!” Rose wailed, appealing to Hermione, who was busy inspecting the fridge and cupboards to check on the state of their supplies. True to form, the industrious house-elves had provisioned the kitchen quite admirably, all their favourite foods amply supplied. The entire flat, in fact, was spotless. Knowing how hard they must have worked and that they would absolutely refuse payment, Hermione decided that she would leave gifts for them on a regular basis to express her appreciation. There was still some guilt there for her, in having them working so hard in her rooms at all. The reality was just something she’d had to accept and live with.

“Okay, calm down, you lot!” she called, still distracted by the chore occupying her. “We’ve only just got here! Squabbling already?”

There was a knock on the door, softly at first and then a bit more forcefully. The kids stopped what they were doing and froze in place, curiosity replacing their interest in the game. Hermione moved to the heavy, old, oak door and pulled it open.

“Scorpius!” she exclaimed. A wiry, blond boy with expressive grey eyes stood there grinning at her. “You’re here! How wonderful!” She bent to pull him into a hug, straightening only at the sound of a throat being cleared.

“Tsk, Granger. Manners!” chided the tall, blond wizard who stood just behind the boy, elegant and so handsome in his black robes. The corners of his mouth curled into a lazy grin uncannily like his son’s.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! I actually didn’t see you there for a minute!” she laughed. “Please come in! We’ve still got a bit of time before we should go down to dinner.”

Rose and Hugo shouted with excitement at the sight of their friend, and within sixty seconds, they’d pulled him into their room and shut the door.

Hermione watched them go with a fond smile. Then she turned her attention back to Draco. “I really should be at the welcoming feast this year. My first full year back and all. I’ve got a house-elf coming shortly, to give the kids their dinner. Have you made an arrangement for Scorpius? He’d be most welcome to have dinner here with Rosie and Hugo.” 

“Yes, okay. Good idea,” Draco muttered distractedly. The faint scent of vanilla was wafting about his nose, addling his senses before he’d even had a good look at her. It had been just over two weeks, but it felt like a lot longer since he’d been at her house. “I’m sure Scorpius will be delighted to have dinner with your two.” 

By the time his brain had cleared a bit, she was in the kitchen. He could hear cupboards opening and closing, and the next thing he knew, she had reappeared, holding two glasses filled with a deep, ruby-red liquid. 

“Wine?” she offered, holding one glass out to him with a smile.

Accepting it, he moved to one of the squashy old armchairs by the fire as she seated herself in the other.

“This is nice,” she murmured, taking a sip.

“Mmm.” 

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, instead savouring the glow of the crackling fire and the warming properties of the wine. It would give both a pleasant little buzz before dinner.

“Excellent wine,” he observed finally. “Malbec?”

She nodded. “Good call. Very astute palate.”

The firelight glinted gold in strands of her hair, which lay loose and soft on her shoulders. What would it feel like, to touch those waves? It was no longer bushy, as it had been when they were children and he’d said such hurtful things about that and so much more. It was actually quite lovely now.

Dragging his gaze away from her hair, he replied, “My father is a connoisseur and a collector. I learned very early.”

Her answering smile and a contented sigh told him just how comfortable and relaxed she was feeling at that moment. “I know very little about wine, only the ones I like and dislike. I’d love to learn, though. Perhaps you could teach me.”

“I believe that can be arranged,” he replied, trying not to look too pleased. This could be the opening he had been hoping for. And it had fallen right into his lap. “I –”

Just then, there was another knock on the door. Two house-elves had arrived, greeting both professors and scurrying to prepare the table for the children’s meal. One snap of the fingers and a snowy tablecloth appeared, settling itself on the table they customarily used for their meals. A second snap and china and cutlery appeared, arranging themselves into three place settings. A final snap and a tempting meal of turkey, succulent roast beef, mashed potatoes, and an assortment of vegetables and sweet and savoury breads materialised. 

That was their cue to head down to the Great Hall. 

“Rosie! Hugo! Scorpius! Come out, please. Your dinner is waiting!” Hermione called, opening the bedroom door and peering inside. “And it looks delicious!”

The mention of food was all the children needed, apparently. In a flash, all three were washing their hands and seating themselves, ready to tuck in. The two house-elves, a male and female, stood meekly to one side, ready to do whatever was needed or desired. They would babysit until Hermione and Draco returned.

“Right. Professor Malfoy and I will be going down to the feast now.”

“Oh, Mummy, can’t you –” Rose protested.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. All the teachers will be there. We are expected to attend,” Hermione told her gently, wrapping her arms around her daughter and hugging her. Hugo got a hug next, but he wriggled free of his mother as he glanced at Scorpius, embarrassed.

He needn’t have been. Scorpius was busy being reassured by his father that they’d be dining together regularly from then on as well.

“Shall we?” Draco asked presently, with an eagerness to get to the feast that he’d never felt in all the years he’d been teaching at Hogwarts. 

This year was different in several ways, and he felt a lightheartedness that was new and strange. True, the welcoming feast itself was rather a bore. It never changed from year to year. There was the Sorting, to begin with. And then, the feast itself would appear, generally the same selection of hearty, wholesome English foods, tasty and lavish but not particularly adventurous. Always, he’d wished he were alone in his rooms with a good book and a bottle. Getting comfortably pissed was the true objective, by which time the book had always fallen by the wayside.

But this year, things were different. This year, Hermione would be there. They would sit together at the staff table. They would talk. He would have her company even when they were simply eating quietly. He wouldn’t be alone to ruminate, wishing he were anywhere else and wanting to get the bloody thing over with. It would be a sort of… dinner date.

‘Right,’ he thought wryly, as they headed towards the grand staircase. ‘Some dinner date. Granger, me, and only about a thousand other people.’

“I’m absolutely famished!” Hermione was saying cheerfully, as they headed into the Great Hall, brightly lit with hundreds of floating candles and a ceiling full of silvery stars. “We ate sandwiches on the train, but that was ages ago.” She glanced at Draco as they made their way towards the staff table at the front of the room. “I looked for you on the train, but you weren’t there. When did you get here, anyway?”

“Four days ago, actually,” he told her, as they sat down. “I wanted Scorpius to get a feel for the place and to really settle in before everyone else arrived. We had the grand tour again, in a bit more detail than when he was here last spring, we sat and talked with McGonagall and I introduced him to all the teachers. He’s really keen to start, but he’ll have to be patient. In any case, he’s really happy to be here, I think.”

“Like Rosie,” Hermione agreed. “She’s eager too. They’ll have the run of this place by the time they’re –” She stopped dead in her tracks and glanced around, laughing ruefully. “Uh-oh. I’m afraid we’re big news, Malfoy. Have a look.”

Absorbed in their conversation, Draco had not spared even a glance at the students who’d been filing in and seating themselves at their house tables. The first-years were standing off to one side, waiting for the headmistress to start the Sorting. But of the many who were seated, a good portion of the female population seemed suddenly fixated on the end of the staff table where Hermione and Draco sat, looking positively agog. Those whose mouths had not fallen open in amazement were glancing at Draco and Hermione from time to time and whispering, heads bent together. An errant giggle punctuated the relative quiet now and then.

It appeared that Professor Malfoy’s fan club was back, as loyal, dedicated, and adoring as ever. Draco’s mouth twitched, but he bit back his laughter. In the past, seeing the girls staring worshipfully at him would have irritated the hell out of him. Now, he tipped his head, gave them a cheeky grin and then a salute, which caused an immediate avalanche of hysterical giggles and blushes as they shrank back into their seats.

Hermione laughed too, feigning disapproval. “Oh, that’s so mean, Malfoy, teasing them like that! I bet they’re completely traumatised now!”

“They deserve it,” he muttered darkly.

“You love it. Tell the truth!” she teased. 

Draco chuckled now. “Actually, I don’t. I mean, yeah, it’s flattering, but it gets old really fast. After that, it’s just a pain in the arse. Maybe now they’ll leave off for a while.”

Hermione was just about to reply when Professor McGonagall began to shepherd the first-years into a queue for the Sorting. After that, the rest of the evening unfolded in the expected manner, no surprises, and before long, it was time to return to their rooms and their waiting children.

Rose and Hugo pushed ahead of their mother, as they said their goodnights to Scorpius and Draco. Hermione grinned, nodding and giving them a little wave as they left.

“Goodnight, Draco,” she said softly, almost to herself. 

He heard and looked around quickly just as she was turning back into her flat, but too late to catch her eye. The door was already closing.

‘Goodnight, Hermione,’ he murmured, his words nearly inaudible, and then he took Scorpius’ hand. “Right, then, young man,” he said briskly. “Bedtime for you.”

  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	3. October to December 2016, Part One

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814888162/in/dateposted-public/)

23 October  
Sunday afternoon

“Hallowe’en’s really soon. Could we have a party, Mummy?”

Rose’s question hung in the air for a long moment while Hermione thought her answer over.

“What did you have in mind, exactly?” she replied at last. 

She, Rose, and Hugo were sitting on the living-room floor, colouring and cutting out paper jack-o-lanterns, witches on broomsticks, ghosts, and ghouls, which they would later string up and hang strategically all over their flat. It was a Hallowe’en tradition they’d done ever since Rose was first able to walk. Hermione had remembered doing much the same thing when she was very small as well, and she had been eager to carry on the tradition. Often, they would go to her parents’ home for neighbourhood trick-or-treating and a small family party. This year, of course, things were very different, but Rose and Hugo were especially eager to observe the day in the same way they’d always done.

“It’ll be really cool this year, won’t it, because we’re in a creepy castle and there are _real_ ghosts here!”

“Not to mention real witches and wizards on broomsticks!” Hermione laughed. “Though I still don’t really much fancy flying. It was my least favourite subject when I was a student here.”

“About a hundred years ago!” Rose giggled, catching her mother’s mock-stern eye. “I’m going to love flying, I bet!”

“I hope you do, Rosie. It wasn’t much fun being so scared of it,” Hermione mused. “What about you, Hugo? Think you’ll like it?”

Hugo flashed his sister and mother a supremely confident grin. “Can’t wait.”

That was really no surprise. Hermione had already caught him zooming about their back garden on his first broom, when he was no more than six. True, he was only cruising about two feet off the ground, and he wasn’t in the air all that long before he fell off, but his eyes had sparkled, high colour in his cheeks. He was a natural. Just like Harry, Hermione had thought, smiling fondly as she remembered her friend’s first time on a broom. 

“Anyway, about the Hallowe’en party – can we? Please? We can make costumes and cupcakes and play games and tell spooky stories. Just like we do at Gran and Grandpa’s. Scorpius could sleep over. _Please??_ ” Rose wheedled, regarding her mother with appealingly wide eyes and a wickedly sweet smile. 

“Oh, all right,” Hermione relented, laughing in spite of herself. “But look, don’t get too excited about Scorpius just yet. We’ll have to give him and Professor Malfoy a proper invitation and then see what they say. Tell you what. Why don’t you work on making an invitation right now, and we’ll deliver it to their door when you’re finished. Okay?”

Both children were delighted with the suggestion, and set to work at once, crafting an invitation. Two of them, in fact, because almost instantly, it had evolved into a contest to see whose was better.

Half an hour later, their masterpieces were finished. Begging off judging duty, Hermione decided to take the coward’s (or diplomat’s) way out and choose both. So, off they trooped along the corridor and then one flight down to the Malfoys’ flat directly below their own. 

Draco had needed more space once it was determined that Scorpius would be joining him at Hogwarts; he was fortunate that another staff flat with the same layout as Hermione’s was available for immediate occupancy. It was a bit chilly, but then, so was the rest of the castle a good deal of the time. Moving out of his old rooms, Draco didn’t feel much nostalgia for the space he’d occupied for the past five years. All he could see were possibilities ahead, now that his son was here with him. It was scary, but exciting too.

It had been a quiet Sunday afternoon for him and Scorpius. There had been homework for the boy to finish, with Draco supervising, and potions exams to mark. The sitting room was quiet, the only sounds the scratching of two quills and the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth. 

“Hungry?” he asked Scorpius eventually. “Want a snack?”

Scorpius nodded enthusiastically, and Draco rose to head into the small kitchen to see what he could rustle up for the two of them. Just then there was a knock at the door.

“Scorpius, see who that is, please,” he called, pouring two glasses of pumpkin juice and preparing a plate of wholemeal biscuits, sliced apples, and cheese.

He was heading back into the sitting room when the door opened. There was Hermione, with Rose and Hugo in tow. The children were grinning from ear to ear with barely repressed excitement. 

“Hello, Professor Malfoy,” Hermione said brightly. “We’ve come on an official mission. Go on.” She nudged the children forward a step. “Give them what you made.”

Hugo and Rose stuck their arms straight out then, each proffering an artfully drawn invitation with colourful decorative bits glued on. 

“We are having a Hallowe’en party and we would like you to come!” Rose announced to Scorpius. “You too, Professor Malfoy!” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Not today, surely!” Draco couldn’t resist teasing, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No! Not _today,_ of course! Don’t be silly!” Rose said, her voice a perfect echo of her mother’s as a precocious, rather bossy little girl years before. “Hallowe’en isn’t till next week!”

Scorpius had been following the exchange with avid interest. “With costumes and games and lots of sweets?” he asked excitedly. “I read about that in a book!”

“’Course!” Hugo replied airily. 

“Well?” Hermione asked quietly, with a little smile. “You really can’t beat invitations like those. Will you join us? Say, about five o’clock next Monday evening? We’ll have dinner first. Something easy and fun. And then we can have games and sweets afterwards.”

“And scary stories, don’t forget!” Rose piped up.

“Of course! It wouldn’t be Hallowe’en without them!” Hermione nodded gravely, but with a wink at Draco over the kids’ heads.

“Please say yes!” “Please!” all three children clamoured now, tugging insistently at Draco’s hands.

“Okay, okay! I give up! Yes, of course. We’ll be happy to come!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. 

This invitation couldn't have been better news. First off, it would be an easy and natural way to spend time with Granger and it would be safe as well. The children would be buffers of a sort. There would be very little chance of a misstep or blunder on his part. And truth to tell, he was quite looking forward to this little party. He’d never had one as a young child. His parents had always been far more focused on Samhain, from sundown on Hallowe’en night through the next full day until sundown. It was a sombre, reflective time – a bit creepy, yes, because the veil between worlds was at its thinnest, and it was thought that spirits, especially those of one’s ancestors, would make their presence known on Samhain night. 

A meaningful occasion, certainly, but there had been no _fun_ associated with this very important point on the Wheel of the Year. Once, when he was eight, he’d overheard disapproving adult talk about Muggles and the way their children marked Hallowe’en. He’d been jealous, going so far as to ask his father if perhaps he might have a party too. Lucius had shut down that idea very quickly with a vehement shake of the head. 

“We do not involve ourselves in that sort of folly, Draco,” he’d said stiffly, frowning. “Muggles play at our world without knowing the slightest thing about it in reality. In truth, what they do is merely a trivial mockery of our most ancient practices and traditions. The Old Ways still define and shape our lives. We will not desecrate our sacred celebration with such tawdry activities.”

That had been that. And of course, Scorpius had been brought up in precisely the same way. It was surprising that he knew anything about the popular celebration of Hallowe’en at all. Draco wondered how and made a mental note to ask him. Things would be different from now on, Draco found himself thinking with extreme satisfaction. They would enjoy themselves hugely and make merry. There would be time enough for the more sombre marking of Samhain, and they would certainly do that as well. But there would be a balance, dark and light together. And he would share all of it with his son for the very first time.

And with Granger.  
  
  


*

The intervening days passed far too slowly for the children’s liking. But at last, Sunday night arrived. Twenty-four hours until the big evening.

At half past nine, Draco sat at the foot of Scorpius’ bed. One of his favourite times of the day was upon them: the chance to share the reading of a book and just talk quietly about the day they’d had. Draco had found, increasingly, that any time spent on lesson preparation or marking homework assignments was time he’d almost resented, as it kept him away from his son. But he knew he must provide a proper example for Scorpius. It was very important that he be seen to encourage a responsible attitude towards activities that were perhaps less enjoyable but still necessary, schoolwork among them. Scorpius must observe that the same rules that applied to him also applied to his father. 

“So. Are you excited about Hallowe’en tomorrow?” Draco asked presently, as he closed the book they’d been reading out loud together. 

Scorpius practically bounced out of the bed, his face shining. “I can’t wait!” He quieted, looking up at his father thoughtfully. “Why didn’t Grandmere and Grandpere let me have Hallowe’en?”

Draco smiled wistfully and shrugged. “They never let me either. Grandpere has always viewed it as much more a Muggle thing. Something they pretend at. Witchcraft is just playacting for them. He doesn’t feel such celebrations are appropriate for a wizarding family.”

“But… you don’t believe that, do you, Dad?”

Draco shook his head, his smile reassuring. “No, of course not. Hallowe’en is celebrated here at Hogwarts in quite a grand fashion, as you’ll see tomorrow night. We’ll walk down to the Great Hall before dinner so you can see how marvellous the decorations are.”

Scorpius grinned, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Will you wear your costume too?”

Draco chuckled softly. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you,” he replied with a wink. “Right, off to sleep now. Goodnight.”

“G’night, Dad.” A small, muffled voice came from deep beneath the quilts, where Scorpius had burrowed; by the sound of it, he was halfway to sleep already.

Smiling to himself, Draco stood, stretched, and returned to the sitting room, where a pile of essays awaited his attention.  
  
  


*

Hallowe’en dawned bright and crisp. A brilliant tapestry of flame, gold, and scarlet leaves surrounding the castle was lit by the rising sun.

Hermione glanced at the bedside clock. 7:22 AM. Groaning softly, she turned over and pulled the pillow over her head. Too early to be conscious, much less coherent! But her children were most definitely awake. She could hear talking, laughter, and what sounded like gleeful jumping from one bed to the other, judging by the banging of the headboards against the walls.

After what seemed only a handful of minutes, the banging was now on her bedroom door.

“Mum! We’re hungry!” Rosie called imperiously. 

“Yeah!” Hugo put in, just as insistently.

“Ask nicely and I will _consider_ getting out of my nice, warm bed for you two monsters!” Hermione called back, laughing.

Five minutes passed in relative quiet. That would be about the most she could expect from her kids, for whom patience was not exactly a strong suit.

Then there was a voice very close by. She could tell that its owner’s mouth was practically pressed up against her door.

“Sorry, Mummy. Will you come and make us breakfast, please? The pancakes you always make on Hallowe’en morning?”

Hermione was already up and pulling on her dressing gown by this time. Tying the belt securely around her waist, she opened the door, grinning.

“All right, but you both must promise to help this time. You’re old enough now.”

Excited agreement was the response, and the three of them trooped into the small kitchen to get things started.

Over pancakes shaped like ghosts, witches on broomsticks, and cats (with a little help from Hermione’s wand), the three discussed the forthcoming party that evening. The conversation was a lively babble, the two children talking over each other in their excitement.

“Right,” their mother sighed, smiling. “Go get dressed now. Lessons in just half an hour. I’ll clear up.”

And so the day passed, everyone involved in their usual Monday pursuits. At last, five o’clock rolled around. By this time, Hugo and Rose were already pulling on their costumes, the specifics of which they had kept secret from Hermione. She had a little secret of her own, and she couldn’t help grinning as she got ready. This would be a surprise they wouldn’t be expecting.

At promptly five-fifteen, there was a knock. Rose and Hugo raced to the door, each trying to outdo the other in getting there first. Pulling the door open, Hugo started to laugh delightedly. There were two skeletons, one tall and the other a good deal smaller, both with a black stocking cap pulled over white-blond hair. The bones emitted an unearthly glow, bright white neon against the black background.

“How did you do it?” Hugo asked with obvious excitement. 

“Well… “ the shorter of the two replied. “It was really …”

“It was all Scorpius’ idea,” the taller of the two cut in. “I merely helped a bit…”

“Dad helped a lot!” Scorpius said, adding, “You lot look really cool!”

And indeed, they did. Rose and Hugo had taken a particularly creative route, dressing as the front and back ends of a unicorn. How they’d managed it was anyone’s guess, but it looked very much as if it had involved quite a lot of coloured paper, tape, and glue.

“Did I hear someone at the door?” Hermione called from her bedroom. A moment later, she emerged, the skirt of her costume trailing behind her.

Everyone stared, open-mouthed.

“Wow! _Mum!_ ” Rose exclaimed. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Somebody dead, that’s for sure!” Hugo put in, his eyes huge.

Scorpius was at a loss for words, and Draco merely gazed at her, transfixed.

It was as if a beautiful, utterly ethereal spectre had just materialised, her face as pale as milk, her hair long and lush, with an abundance of riotous curls. Her eyes were huge and dark against the unearthly pallour of her skin. Her flowing gown seemed to be made of moonlight and cobwebs. If it were possible, she appeared to be the merest suggestion of a spirit, not a flesh-and-blood woman.

“I know who you are,” he said quietly. The little colour he normally had had left his face.

Hermione turned, her dark eyes wide, her expression sombre.

“And who might that be?” she asked, her voice very low.

“I’ll wager,” Draco continued, regaining his composure, “you’re meant to be the ghost of Rowena Ravenclaw. Is that right?”

A pleased smile broke over Hermione’s face then and she nodded. “Exactly! What gave it away?”

“I’ve run into her a few times,” he replied cryptically. It was obvious that these encounters had not exactly been pleasant, much as he was attempting to make light of them. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Now!” the children clamoured, but he shook his head. 

“Boring stuff. Let’s get this Hallowe’en bash started, eh?” he told them with forced heartiness, shepherding the three children back into the sitting room, which was replete with all sorts of decorations that glowed, glimmered, and winked. Bewitched cut-outs of pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, cats, ghosts, and witches and wizards on broomsticks dangled on long, beribboned strings from the ceiling and decorated the tables. 

Hermione brought up the rear, gazing thoughtfully at Draco as she did so, curiosity aroused.

In the end, the party was a rousing success. They’d had a spaghetti dinner, all three of the kids ending up wearing almost as much of their dinner as they’d managed to eat because they were all in such a rush to get dinner over with. A quick _Scourgify!_ took care of that, and then it was on to the festivities.

Bobbing for apples, Pin the Tail on the Hippogriff, and a contest to see who could tell the scariest story were quite the success as well. That was won, hands down, by Scorpius, who apparently had a quite fertile imagination and wasn’t afraid of gory details. Rose and Hugo lapped it all up, thrilled and scared out of their wits at the descriptions of limbless, undead wights dragging themselves about the countryside during the dark of the new moon, searching for new victims to sate their monstrous appetites.

Then it was time for treats. Hermione brought out a tray of vanilla and chocolate cupcakes, frosted and decorated with bits of peppermint, crushed toffee, and chocolate.

“Professor Malfoy, would you mind fetching the cocoa?” she asked, as she set down the cakes.

Draco nodded, reappearing in a moment with a tray of steaming mugs, the scent of hot chocolate wafting tantalisingly through the air. It didn’t take long for the three children to scarf down the sweets. Eagerly helping themselves to the little treat sacks Hermione had prepared, they disappeared into Rose and Hugo’s bedroom. Peals of laughter could be heard through the closed door almost immediately.

Hermione caught Draco’s eye and sighed happily. “A success, I think, yes?”

He grinned. “An unqualified success. My first, you know.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side. “First what?”

“First real Hallowe’en party, not counting what we did here as students. I’m talking about before that.”

“Really?! Why?” She looked faintly horrified now, and completely incredulous.

Draco studied the dregs of cocoa in his mug. His expression was suddenly grim. “Pureblood families generally do not allow such activities. They are considered frivolous and demeaning to the Old Ways. And of course, Muggles celebrate it – ‘playing at our world,’ that’s what my father calls it – and for many, that’s reason enough all on its own. It certainly was for him and my mother.”

“Oh,” Hermione exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

He laughed softly. “No need to apologise at this point. It’s ancient history now. I’m just glad I can do things differently for Scorpius.”

They grew silent for a couple of moments, listening appreciatively to the laughter and high spirits of the three children in the next room. Then she turned to him, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

“So… what experiences did you have involving Rowena Ravenclaw, anyway?” she asked, sitting back in one of the armchairs near the fire, drawing her legs up beneath the voluminous skirt of her gown. 

This wasn’t a memory that Draco was really keen on sharing. But he’d opened this Pandora’s box enough that there was no closing it now.

“Right,” he began, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You know **Hogwarts: A History** backwards and forwards, according to your reputation. So you must know the story of her daughter Helena and how she was… well, how she was –”

“Murdered. Yes, I do know. By the Bloody Baron. Crime of passion. After which he committed suicide out of overwhelming remorse.” Hermione nodded gravely.

“But you may not be familiar with bits of Rowena’s earlier life. She was betrothed at the age of thirteen to Thomas Ravenclaw. They married not long after that. She was a child. He was a good deal older than she was, probably at least forty years: a reprobate, a drunk and a lecher. She got knocked up and gave birth at fourteen. For a short time, he left her alone. One can only assume he satisfied his urges with household servants. In fact, he did this even after he’d forced his way back into her bed as well. Left a trail of bastard children all over his manor house.

“In sixth year, when I was working on the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, I found her diary and read the whole thing. I didn’t realise that’s what it was at first. It was wrapped up in many layers of linen and locked away in a strongbox. I was curious about what was in the old box. And the work with the cabinet hadn’t been going so well. So I worked the lock open, unwrapped it, and yeah… I read it.”

He allowed a small sigh to escape him and then continued. “What I saw there was horrifying. And addictive. And… “ It was clear that he really did not want to go on. With a visible effort, he did so anyway. “Reading about him forcing himself on her was… strangely titillating. So I… I….” 

Once again, Draco stopped. He did not want to say what he knew he would have to admit, if he were to be completely honest with Hermione. 

“You masturbated. Is that it?” She sat quite still, looking even more bloodless now than her makeup had made her.

He nodded miserably, wincing at the word. _Truth, Malfoy. Must tell her the truth._ “Repeatedly. And then one day, as I was reading her words yet again, she manifested. The pages began turning on their own as if a small breeze were causing them to move. I heard her voice before I actually saw her. She was weeping.” His voice broke then, and he stared down at his hands, unable to continue, the words clogging his throat as the memory of her crystallised in his mind’s eye. 

“What I did… gods, I am sickened by it now. I had seen something nobody was meant to see,” he continued at last, swallowing hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had invaded her privacy in an unspeakable way. Here I was, wanking off to the misery and pain of a young girl who’d lived centuries before. She showed me her bruises. He’d been brutal. From that point on, she haunted me. Showed up in my dreams… in the corridors… my room… everywhere, really, always reminding me of what I’d done. How I’d trespassed on the sanctity of her memory and _used_ it in such a disgusting way. And I knew that only I could see or hear her. It was my penance. And it went on all through the rest of sixth year.”

Hermione was staring at him, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open with shock. “And…” she began tentatively. “Are you still? Haunted, I mean?”

Draco shook his head. “Thank the gods, no. I reckon I made my peace with her years ago. And anyway, by seventh year, so much else was going on that it made my haunting look tame. At that point, I’d have traded Voldemort’s sick and twisted shit for a haunting any day.”

For several moments, both sat quite still, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the clump of a log breaking in half and sliding down deeper into the flames. He stole a glance at her eventually. She was sitting quite straight and motionless, her hands clutching at the skirt of her gown.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” she murmured at last. “For trusting me with something so… so…”

“It’s okay. Really. Forget it.” And in that moment, Draco found himself wishing very hard that she would. Why in Merlin’s name had he admitted all that repulsive shite to her? He could have made something up! Hell.

Now, all he wanted, really, was to escape. Glancing at his watch, he stood, the comfort of the fire forgotten. “Getting late,” he muttered. “I’d best get my son off to bed.”

She nodded, relief at the change in subject apparent. “Yes, of course. It’s that time for us as well.”

Goodbyes were said and the two skeletons prepared to take their leave. Gazing at Hermione over the children’s heads, Draco found himself suddenly quite without words. All he knew was that he had confessed something that perhaps he should have kept to himself, and yet, Healer Grey had encouraged him not to hold back, especially where she was concerned, if he wanted her complete trust. She needed to know every blackened, messed-up part of his heart and soul. He couldn’t hide any of it from her, not if he wanted to move forward with his life and truly heal. Owning up to what he’d done twenty years ago had to come first, before anything else was even possible. Where doing so would leave him, with regard to Hermione, he had no idea.

“Thank you for sharing our Hallowe’en,” Hermione was saying. “We’re so glad you could come.” She turned to her children. “What do you say, Rose? Hugo?”

“Thanks, Scorpius! Thanks, Professor Malfoy!” they chorused.

“Thank you, Professor Granger,” Scorpius said dutifully. “Thanks, Rosie and Hugo.”

“Yes,” Draco echoed, catching her eye a final time. “Thank you, Professor Granger.” A part of him hoped she could read what he was feeling in his gaze. Remorse, abject fear, and longing in equal measures. The other part was terrified, lest she see and reject what she’d seen. He’d let his guard down more in the last hour than he had done with any woman in years, including his ex-wife. He could only hope that such a decision would not blow up in his face.

Lying in bed later, staring up at the moonlit patterns on the ceiling, he remembered a pair of large, long-lashed hazel eyes wide with concern. Maybe those eyes would haunt him now, taking the place of the other, much older memory. He could live with that.  
  
  


*

_2 November 2016  
Wednesday_

_Gods, I am so bloody sick of this. Sick of the nightmares, sick of trying to hide them from Scorpius, and sick of this sodding journal!  
ENOUGH.  
  
  
5 November  
Saturday  
  
It seems this stuff Healer Grey gave me has finally started to kick in. FINALLY. It’s only been a whole three months since I started taking it. I reckon she would say that it takes a while to build up enough in one’s system to make any sort of obvious difference, and of course, this is true for many of the most powerful potions. All I know is, my nightmares have been pretty much just as bad as they’ve always been, at least until the last few days. _

_The difference seems to be that now, when the dreams are at their worst, there is a point when things seem to freeze and stop, and then, Merlin’s beard, sometimes I see HER. And then suddenly, I’m feeling stronger. And then she’s gone, but I still feel stronger somehow. As if I have a power I didn’t have before, and I can simply turn the horrors back, make them dissipate like smoke. As if I’d done a Vanishing spell. It’s bizarre._  
  
  
7 November  
Monday  
  
  
Healer Grey closed the journal, laid her palms down on the cover, and looked up at Draco, her expression placid and untroubled, her gaze clear.

“So. Ms. Granger appears in your dreams, does she?” she mused. “Do you ever have dreams specifically about her, dreams in which she is the focal point?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah. But until now, they’ve all been –” 

“Of the erotic variety?” 

He laughed a little, flushing. “You could say that.”

“You haven’t written anything about those dreams, I notice,” the healer remarked pointedly.

Draco stiffened. “Well, I mean… those are _private,_ aren’t they. I never agreed to share those dreams.”

“The tacit understanding we have had from the outset is that your journal is a refuge, something in which to confide, where you can gather your thoughts, sort them out, and gain perspective. It’s a place where you can be completely honest, no holds barred. That means including ALL dreams, Mr. Malfoy.” The healer sighed and uncrossed her arms, leaning forward earnestly. “Please believe me. I do not say this out of a prurient desire to gain access to your most intimate thoughts, subconscious or otherwise. But even in those very private dreams, there can be important lessons to learn. You are undergoing a very difficult healing process. I do not wish for you to do it halfway only to find that you haven’t made the progress you are ultimately aiming for.” She paused for a moment, scrutinising Draco carefully. “Does she have any idea of how you feel about her?”

There was an immediate urge to laugh, but Draco stifled it and merely shook his head. “Doubtful. In fact, I’d say definitely not.” 

“Do you know how she feels about you?”

Now there was an interesting question, one he’d certainly considered often enough, mostly in the context of an attack of doubts about whether her seeming offer of friendship could possibly be sincere, given the shoddy way he’d treated her for seven years. Being an inborn sceptic, his natural tendency was to gravitate towards the negative in most things. He knew full well how badly he had treated her – sneering, laughing, and ridiculing her at every opportunity, and actually insulting her with his vicious taunts of “Mudblood!” Those were formative years, from eleven to eighteen, and surely, he believed, his verbal abuse must have found its target and burrowed very deep. How all that could possibly be forgiven, he could not fathom. Surely, no matter how outwardly cordial she was now, all these years later, she must loathe him.

“I can guess,” he said simply, with a shrug. “Nothing good, I reckon.”

“But,” Healer Grey persisted, “based upon her behaviour around you, especially when the two of you have been alone, what impressions do you have?”

“I suppose I’d have to say she doesn’t _actively_ dislike me. She’s friendly enough. Probably just being polite. Not that I deserve even that much from her, of all people,” he added, hoping to put an end to this line of questioning. What was between him and Granger was none of Winifred Grey’s business. “Can we talk about something else?”

“No,” Healer Grey replied, sounding positively cheerful. “I think not. Tell me about your most recent encounters.”

And so the story of Hallowe’en came spilling out. 

“And I wound up feeling like an utter pillock!” he exclaimed at the end, raking a hand agitatedly through his hair. “What did she need to know all that for, anyway? I know you said I should be straight with her about all the shit I’ve been through. But what the fuck good did it do me, telling her about… about… _wanking_ while reading that sodding diary?! Bloody hell, she must think I’m an _animal!_ ”

“I believe it far more likely,” the healer said quietly, “that she thinks you did something at sixteen that you sincerely regret now, at thirty-six.”

“I’ve regretted it for years,” he muttered, his head in his hands. “That and all the rest, the whole lot!”

“Precisely,” Winifred Grey remarked briskly. “She knows how ashamed you are of that behaviour. I believe you made that plain, from what you have told me today. But she also knows that you were hardly more than a child at the time. A boy under an enormous amount of pressure at a time that was fraught with danger for everyone in our world, but especially for those at Hogwarts School and you in particular.”

“Don’t excuse it!” he told her roughly. “I can’t, and I won’t!”

“Nor should you,” she replied, sitting back and eyeing him coolly. “You mustn’t, ever. But it’s one thing to recognise a terrible mistake from the past and be consumed with regret to the point of sickness, and quite another to finally forgive yourself for it. Being truthful with Ms. Granger in the hope of understanding and forgiveness from her is the first step on the road to forgiving yourself.”

Draco turned away, misery and naked pain in his grey eyes. A long moment of silence followed. “What if I can’t?” he asked finally.

“You can, because you _must_. It’s as simple as that. There is no choice. Know that you were being coerced ,and you were scared out of your wits that something would happen to your parents or to you if you didn’t do as you were ordered. Your father was in Azkaban. Your mother was alone and vulnerable. Fear can do strange things to us. That, and being constantly surrounded by a steady culture of violence and cruelty. I suspect you were both profoundly frightened and deeply angry. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diary was an outlet for you, Draco. It was a way to channel your darker impulses and desires.”

Draco’s head snapped up and he stared at the healer. “Are you suggesting that me getting myself off on the words of a long-dead girl who’d been sexually abused was somehow _therapeutic?_ ”

“That is precisely what I am suggesting, though it sounds dreadful to put it that way. What you did was shameful. You did wrong. No question. But you _know_ it now and have known it for years. It’s past time, now, for you to accept that you made that mistake and let it go. Let the whole incident go. That and all the subsequent horrors you witnessed and those in which you were forced to participate. Acknowledge all of it and then let it go.” She smiled kindly at him now. “Just let it go.”

Could he? Draco felt dazed, fragments of feelings whirling confusedly about in his brain. There were no words.

“One small step at a time, Draco,” Healer Grey murmured, still smiling. “We needn’t climb the whole mountain today. Just think about what I’ve said. And don’t avoid Ms. Granger, if that is what you have been doing,” she added cannily. “She will not understand, and she will be hurt if you do.”

In fact, he had done precisely that. Since Hallowe’en, if he’d been able to crawl into a very deep hole for a century, he’d have done it gladly rather than face her. Had she felt hurt, he wondered suddenly. That possibility had not even occurred to him. He had no idea, having studiously avoided looking her in the eyes for the whole past week.

“From what you tell me, she sounds far more accepting of you than you are of yourself.” Healer Grey moved around her desk to face him directly. “Go home and tend to your son, Draco. Relax this evening. Have a glass of wine later. Better yet, have one with Ms. Granger, if you can. I suspect you’ll find her quite willing.” 

Appealing advice, Draco had to admit. Nevertheless, by the following afternoon, it became apparent, now that he was actually watching for her in the corridors and in the staff room, that she must have been very hurt indeed by his avoidance. She was virtually nowhere to be found. Draco actually found himself wondering if she’d somehow discovered a way to buck the wards and apparate within the castle walls. Nobody could vanish this thoroughly without having left, he thought, incredulous. And yet, he knew she hadn’t done that, because he could hear her children’s voices as he passed their rooms.

Sorely tempted to just knock on the door and get it over with once and for all, he had reached out his hand on two separate occasions and then recoiled both times as if stung. Glancing about furtively, hoping nobody had seen those little displays, he had moved on, skulking away and mentally chastising himself for his cowardice.

On the tenth day after Hallowe’en, the third following his therapy session, he spotted her at some distance, hurrying along the corridor towards the Grand Staircase, robes flaring behind her.

“Gr –” he began and then checked himself, his pace picking up dramatically. “ _Professor_ Granger! A word, please!” 

There were several students in the corridor between them, and they glanced about with mild, passing interest as he hurried towards her and then resumed their conversations.

Hermione looked, for a few seconds, like the proverbial deer caught in the headlamps. There was an expression of near panic on her face, or so it appeared to Draco. He could have sworn she’d been looking for an escape route.

Finally, he caught up with her, slightly winded. “Granger,” he began, and then realised he had no idea what he wanted to say. “Listen…” he started again. “That is to say… how are you?” Falling back on the expression of a polite nicety was lame in the extreme, but suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything else. 

Her face stiff and pale as porcelain, she regarded him with obvious hurt and anger in her hazel eyes. More anger than hurt, Draco decided. Oddly, this almost made him feel a bit better. Anger he could deal with. He’d certainly provoked enough of it in his student years in people like Potter, Weasley, and yes, Granger, for certain. But he had no clue what to do with hurt – not when he actually cared very much about the person he’d hurt.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked coolly. Her foot had begun an impatient staccato against the old stone floor. 

“Look,” he began anxiously. “Are you free now? Because I don’t particularly want to keep talking in the hallway. Can you come to my rooms? Just for a few minutes. I won’t keep you long.”

She nodded, her expression stony, and followed him to his rooms in silence. They were quiet and empty, Scorpius having gone to private lessons earlier with Rose and Hugo’s tutor in Hermione’s sitting room.

“I… uh… look,” he repeated, and the words were halting and painful. “I’m sorry, okay? I thought… I thought you must surely think very badly of me for doing… what I told you. All those years ago, I mean. With… with Rowena Ravenclaw’s diary.” An uncharacteristic flush swept over his pale face and he stared down at his feet. Suddenly, he was having a difficult time even looking in her direction, much less in the eye.

When he did at last, he saw genuine anger there that had not been assuaged by his attempt at an apology.

“All this time, Malfoy… all this time, I thought we’d finally become friends.” She forced the words out. “Real _friends._ Friends who could confide in each other and know that whatever we said would be accepted. Do you really think so little of me that you’d assume I would judge you harshly? That I couldn’t understand why you might have done such a thing? Merlin’s sake, you were a _kid!_ A scared, lonely kid under Voldemort’s control. Yes, what you did was really pretty vile…”

_There! Knew it! _the voice in his head declared triumphantly.__

__“But you were probably feeling really desperate. Your task was weighing on you. Doing what you did with the diary probably gave you some relief. I understood that! But you didn’t give me credit for the capacity to understand! That’s what’s upset me more than anything, not what you did twenty years ago!” she told him in a low, vehement whisper. “You didn’t trust me to really _be_ your friend, Malfoy! That’s what really hurts!”_ _

__Oh gods. It had simply never occurred to him that she might actually care about him beyond the superficial niceties of being colleagues, friendly acquaintances, and the parents of children who were friends. Despite the obvious caring and concern she’d shown him in the last ten months, he’d never really understood what such treatment from her meant. Suddenly, he felt curiously and nakedly unschooled in the ways of friendship. His relationships with people like Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini had been ones of power and control, namely his over them. He’d been the ringleader and they’d dutifully followed, but had he ever really had a deeper relationship with any of them, he wondered, looking back. They’d been his minions, but there hadn’t been anything genuinely reciprocal between him and any of them. Well, perhaps Nott and Zabini, but even then, what passed for friendship between him and the two of them had always remained only skin deep. He’d never really much cared what they thought of him, because he knew they feared him and the power behind his family name, and that was what mattered. They would follow along obediently, because they knew on which side their bread was buttered. In the end, they’d been as opportunistic as he._ _

__‘Pathetic,’ he thought, disgusted. ‘I had no clue. Nor did I care. Well, of course I didn’t. Malfoys had concerns other than caring.’_ _

__He’d remained silent for several minutes following her outburst, and now Hermione stared at Draco, nonplussed. Then he looked at her, his grey eyes meeting hers directly and candidly, with no attempt to mask his own painful regret._ _

__“Forgive me,” he said softly. “Please. I was stupid.”_ _

__The power in those six simple words was astounding. The anger and hurt faded slowly from Hermione’s face._ _

__“It’s okay,” she murmured. Then, on impulse, she moved closer and slipped her arms about him._ _

__No doubt it was merely meant as a comforting, reassuring gesture, one friend to another. But in that moment, feeling her so close, so warm, her soft curls so fragrant, he couldn’t help himself. Wrapping his arms around her in return, he pulled her closer, trying to steady his breathing and the pounding in his ears. Dare he? She felt every bit as good as in his dreams, maybe better. Yes, definitely better, because this was _real_._ _

__“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair._ _

__She drew back and gazed up at him. Time seemed to slow. He had to do it. He was past all reason and caution. Bending his head, he touched his mouth to hers. The kiss was feather light and slightly off centre, so that it landed a bit nearer the corner of her mouth than a full-on kiss would have done._ _

__Instantly, he drew back, no idea how this had been received. Had he made a mistake? Had this momentary impulse been welcome? Had he misjudged the hug? Suddenly, he felt about fifteen, completely untried and insecure with the opposite sex, a bloody idiot._ _

__There were tears in her eyes now. _Tears_. Bugger! On top of everything else, he’d made her cry! Well, that was it, then. The road from his fantasies and dreams to any sort of reality had just reached a dead end. Squeezing his eyes shut in frustration, he drew a breath and exhaled, only to hear soft laughter._ _

__“Sorry,” she muttered, high spots of colour pinking her cheeks. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being silly. I get all weepy like this rather a lot.”_ _

__Draco stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded. Then he recovered himself, a grin tugging irrepressibly at the corners of his mouth. It had been all right. She hadn’t minded. At the very least, she hadn’t minded! That was something._ _

__“No worries,” he told her, his breathing much more comfortably normal now. “My shoulder is yours anytime.”_ _

__Thank the gods! They were back on an easy and relaxed footing. He hadn’t fucked it all up, as he’d feared. She had forgiven him for his colossal stupidity. And he’d kissed her! It wasn’t the kiss of anyone’s dreams, but it had finally happened. And at least she hadn’t pushed him away or slapped his face. There was hope in that._ _

__“Hey, look, can we talk later?” he asked suddenly, catching her arm as she turned to leave. “There are some things I want to tell you. About my session with Winifred Grey.”_ _

__The smile she gave him over her shoulder lit up the room.  
  
  
  
  
__

__TBC_ _

_  
___  
  



	4. October to December 2016, Part Two

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50804099168/in/dateposted-public/)  


8 November  
late Tuesday night

He’d kissed her. Actually _kissed_ her.

Hermione stood before the mirror in her bedroom, gazing at her reflection critically and with considerable confusion. 

_Why?_

He couldn’t possibly find her seriously _attractive_ … could he? She was still herself. She hadn’t done anything to alter her basic appearance, other than to grow up and leave adolescence behind. True, her skin was clear now, her hair glossy and soft (was it the hair? It was still very full, but she’d finally learned to tame it), and her figure had matured into the curves of womanhood. After two children, that was to be expected. But staring at her reflection, she saw the same candid hazel eyes, the same sprinkling of tiny, pale freckles on her nose and cheeks, the same generous mouth. 

Throughout school, Malfoy had never ceased to remind her of how ugly he found her. Surely he couldn’t have changed so radically just because of the passage of time and because she’d learned to control her hair. So what was it, then? Why had he done it? 

Desperation, perhaps? Maybe in that moment, any warm female body would have done? She did have the impression that he’d lived a virtually celibate life for some time. But no, that was ridiculous. It was hard to imagine someone like Malfoy denying himself the company of a woman for years on end, even the momentary gratification of brief encounters. He could certainly avail himself of such gratification whenever Scorpius visited his mother and grandparents at weekends, if he so chose. 

Which brought the whole thing back to where it had begun: Draco Malfoy had kissed her, and in fact, judging by the way he’d held her, it had felt very much as if he’d wanted the kiss to last longer.

And then suddenly, she remembered something. In January, when she’d first arrived at Hogwarts and made an appearance at the start-of-term feast, he’d gaped at her, not realising at first who she was. At the time, she’d had the distinct impression that he’d been looking at her with genuine interest of the physical variety. The very idea in all its sweet irony had amused and gratified her. Obviously, it was flattering. But that was where such thoughts had ended. And in any case, old habits died hard, apparently, because for several weeks after that, he’d been characteristically rude to her. It wasn’t until a full month after term had resumed that things had started to change. Every once in a while, she’d had the fleeting impression that he’d been looking at her _that_ way again, but it had always passed so quickly that she’d never been quite certain if it had been her imagination.

Hermione considered her reflection, frowning. Honesty was called for here. If that had been the case – if perhaps there had been moments when he’d seemed attracted to her – it was at least in part because she’d have liked him to be. Now there was a novel admission. Could that be the root of it? she wondered. Because, being totally honest, she’d rather liked the idea that Malfoy found her attractive. Not only did it stroke her ego – what woman didn’t enjoy knowing such a thing? – but it spoke to a certain feeling she had to admit that she harboured towards him, one she had never actually acknowledged before now. Unacknowledged or not, the truth was that over time, she was finding _him_ increasingly attractive, all the more so the closer he’d allowed her, the more he’d permitted her to see past the protective barriers he’d always thrown up around himself. So… wishful thinking perhaps, subconscious or otherwise?

The night he’d awakened in her house, fully in the throes of a terrible nightmare, had been a turning point. Perching at the foot of the bed, she had tried desperately to calm Malfoy down. Unselfconsciously, she’d worn her usual sleep outfit, a skimpy tank top and little, flannel pyjama shorts. Grabbing a dressing gown had been the last thing on her mind in the moment. She’d responded quite viscerally to the scream of terror that had woken her up out of a sound sleep, her heart thudding in her chest. Looking back now, she remembered with a rather pleasant little shiver that Malfoy’s startled eyes had travelled the length of her body, lingering on her breasts and bare legs before returning to her face. That same sensation had returned later, when they were sitting together in her kitchen, drinking cocoa and talking, and again in her sitting room, during a game of backgammon. At the time, she’d dismissed all of it as her overactive imagination, preferring to focus on the reasons for his nightmare and calming him sufficiently to allow peaceful sleep to take over again.

That appreciative gaze of his – initially unabashed and later more subtle and surreptitious – was now as hard to forget as it had been easy to dismiss at first. How had she not seen this before? 

And how had she not connected that experience with the way he’d looked at her at Hallowe’en, when she’d made her entrance dressed as the unearthly Rowena Ravenclaw? That look hadn’t been in a vacuum. He’d stared at her, and now that she thought back, it wasn’t just with surprise from the unhappy reminder of an incident from the past. There was another element there as well, and it was the reason she’d flushed beneath her artificially ghostly pallour. He’d thought her beautiful. She could feel it.

 _He fancied her._ Thus, the kiss.

Her stomach erupting into sudden, violent flurries, Hermione sank down on the edge of the bed, clutching at the hem of her sleep shirt and twisting the fabric, oblivious to everything but the memory of Malfoy standing so near that she could smell the clean scent of the soap he used, slipping his hands about her waist and drawing her very close. And oh, the sensation of his mouth on hers, pleasingly warm and pliant, the kiss short but lovely nonetheless.

 _He fancied her._

It had only been twenty-four hours, but it felt to Hermione as if whole worlds had just shifted on their axes. What did all this mean? Was it just physical? Once again, the delicious irony of that insinuated itself into her thoughts. Or was there more to it than mere lust? That conclusion was perhaps a bit more difficult to accept at face value. Of course, she’d been a real friend to him the past ten months, despite his initial resistance and typically derisive dismissal of her. With anyone else, his eventual acceptance in the face of her persistence would be sufficient to explain the growth of a deeper feeling. But with Malfoy, things were different, not to be taken for granted. “Normal” didn’t seem to apply to him. Far too much baggage on too many fronts. 

So all bets were off in the prognostication department. But that didn’t mean that Hermione couldn’t test the waters a bit, did it? After all, she had a right to know exactly what his feelings towards her were, thereby providing a better idea of what she should be doing about it.

What _should_ she be doing about it?

Blowing out the candle on her dresser, she flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, on which moonlight danced in otherworldly patterns of light and shadow. Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight.  
  
  


*

3 December  
Saturday afternoon

As thoroughly as Hermione ruminated over the kiss, so did the man who had given it to her. Draco spent the next several weeks studiously observing Hermione whenever they happened to be together: in his or her living quarters, along with the children; in the staff room between lessons; at occasional shared family dinners on school nights as well as on weekends, when the kids wanted to spend more time together. He attempted to maintain a consistently casual, offhand manner, while secretly taking note of her every move, facial expression, and utterance.

 _Her behaviour seems completely unremarkable,_ he scrawled in his journal one evening. _I must admit, I am surprised. I did not know Granger had it in her to carry on so coolly. She was always so feisty, so easily provoked. Quite a towering temper, too, as I recall._ Remembering one incident in particular when she’d actually hauled off and slapped him in the face, he gave a snort of laughter. _Yet she hasn’t let on one way or the other about the kiss or how she felt about it. Bloody hell, woman, have some pity! You’re driving me mad! I need to know!_ He threw down his quill in frustration, sat back in his chair and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Moments later, there was a scratching at the window pane inches away. He could see in the waning afternoon light, pale gold against the frosty ground cover, that it was one of the owls from the Manor. Reaching to unlatch the window, he pulled it open and the owl hopped inside, happily warming itself as it fluttered its wings. Curious, Draco detached the rolled-up parchment from the bird’s leg. 

_Draco,_ the message began. _I must speak with you at once regarding our son. My life at the Manor has become increasingly unsatisfactory, now that Scorpius is with you at Hogwarts rather than here with me._

Letting out another snort, this time of derision, Draco shook his head, amazed at his ex-wife’s sheer nerve. 

_Your parents are most unfriendly now that he is no longer here. I feel decidedly unwelcome now. Not that it matters to me, really, as I plan to be married very shortly and will soon be gone from this chilly old mausoleum forever. However, I am sure your family would not like certain details of their private lives made known, nor, I expect, would you. I suggest that you come to the Manor at your earliest convenience so that we can sit down and discuss these matters like two civilised adults. I will expect your reply tonight._

_Astoria_

No great surprise about any of this, of course. His parents had grown disenchanted with Astoria soon after he had. They’d resented her attitude of entitlement and campaign to suck as much money out of them as she could manage, under the guise of providing for Scorpius’ needs. But they’d put up with her scheming and rapacity in exchange for the pleasure of having their grandson under their own roof. It had been difficult enough, Draco being far away and estranged, the victim of an illness that remained invisible but was so damaging. Truth be told, there was a great deal of guilt in the hearts of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for the harm they’d blindly caused their own son for years, culminating in Lord Voldemort’s choice of Draco as a pawn for his capricious and cruel agendas. At least, perhaps, they could atone for the terrible harm they’d allowed, by keeping their son’s child safe and trying to give him the childhood they’d ignorantly denied his father. At least this was Narcissa’s resolve. 

Well, now things had finally come to a head. This was good. He would go and have it out with her, once and for all. First, though, he’d need to arrange for Scorpius to stay with Hermione and her kids overnight. 

“Look, Scorpius,” he began, sitting down with his son at the table with some tea and biscuits. “I’ve got to go to the Manor in a little while. Your mother wishes to see me about some family matters. Would you like to stay with Rose and Hugo tonight?”

His mouth full of chocolate biscuit, Scorpius nodded enthusiastically. “Mmm.”

“Right, then,” Draco said briskly, grinning. “After tea, get your overnight things together. Pyjamas, change of clothes for tomorrow, your toothbrush, your –” 

“Dad! I’m not a baby! I know what to bring!” Scorpius protested. 

“’Course you’re not,” his father chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot.”

Moments later, Hermione was surprised to see Draco’s head in her hearth, surrounded by emerald-green flames.

“Didn’t mean to startle you!” he said. “Look, sorry for asking at the last minute but can Scorpius stay with you tonight? I’ve been summoned to the Manor and I don’t think I can ignore it. It’s Astoria,” he added, anticipating the question that was clearly on Hermione’s lips. “She has matters she wants to ‘discuss’ with me. I suspect I’m about to be blackmailed.”

“Oh!” Hermione clapped her hands to her face, dismayed. “But that’s awful! What will you do?”

Draco gave her a grim smile. “I can handle her. I just need to know that Scorpius is taken care of. So… can he stay, then?”

“Of course! Bring him over whenever is best. In fact, the sooner the better. He can have supper with us. You too, if you like,” she said quietly, and there was a smile in the invitation that was warm, even a bit shy.

Draco shook his head ruefully. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass on supper, I’m afraid. I’m keen to get going. I’m sure Scorpius would love the idea, though.”

“Will you be back tonight?” 

“Possibly, though it might be very late. Don’t worry, I won’t turn up at your door at some ungodly hour.” He laughed briefly, his head rippling in the flames.

“No, it’s just… well… I was thinking, if it isn’t too horribly late… knock on my door, why don’t you, and we can talk.”

She looked genuinely interested, almost eager. Or was that his imagination playing tricks on him? Wishful thinking, perhaps? 

“Okay, yeah. I will. Thanks so much, Granger. I really appreciate this. We’ll be over shortly,” he told her, and then with a pop, his head disappeared from the hearth and the green flames died back to nothing.

An hour later, Draco stood at her door, Scorpius by his side. They both knocked and almost immediately, they could hear shouts from inside and then the heavy, old door creaked open. Rose and Hugo were there, grinning delightedly. They reached out and pulled Scorpius inside, as Hermione approached from behind them. She and Draco were left looking at each other in the quiet as the children disappeared inside and the commotion subsided.

There was a long moment in which neither spoke. 

“Right, well, thanks again, Granger. Reckon I’ll be off now,” he said at last.

“How will you go, then?” Her eyes were large and dark, her face partially in shadow.

“Apparate from the grounds. Fastest way,” he murmured, transfixed now. There was something about the way she was looking at him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she seemed to be scrutinising him the same way he’d been surreptitiously watching her for weeks now. As if she wanted to peel back the mask and peer into his mind and heart, to discover what he had been so careful to keep hidden. That is, until the kiss. Her gaze was candid, searching, and yet… as their eyes met, he thought he detected a softening as well. A warming.

As he strode silently through the darkened grounds towards the tall iron gates, an even more startling thought occurred to him. Had she looked at him that way before and somehow he’d missed it? Had she, too, been thinking about the kiss all this time and wondering about it? Wondering about him? The thought of that caused knots to tighten in his midsection, but there were effervescent bubbles bursting in his chest as well. 

He would have to push the envelope a bit further and find out for sure. But for now, there was more pressing business to attend to.  
  
  


*

The Manor and its grounds were bathed in shadows. Firelight and light from many candles illuminated some of the windows, however, and from where he’d Apparated, Draco could see the indistinct forms of his parents and Astoria moving about one of the large drawing rooms, through the wavy panes.

Picking up his pace, he approached, a frisson of trepidation shooting through him, followed by anger and renewed resolve. He was done with being manipulated, used for status and money and all that went with them. He was done being made to feel that he was damaged beyond repair and would surely fail at being a good father, that in fact the very idea of his attempting such a thing was simply out of the question. All of these lies – for of course, now he knew they were lies – were attached quite conveniently to his son, who was being used as a means to a very lucrative end. But no more. To think that on top of that very productive, years-long scheme, Astoria would now attempt to squeeze even more money out of his family in exchange for her silence was just beyond belief. And yet, not. Who was this woman he’d once shared a bed with? She’d quickly become a stranger with an agenda all her own, strengthened by the fact of his emotional paralysis. His illness had been, over the years, a very convenient weapon for her, he knew. But he was done believing her. He was done accepting that his illness would forever define him.

A muscle pulsing tensely in his jaw, he gritted his teeth and pointed his wand at the door, which he knew was secured with especially powerful wards.

 _”Recludo mala fide domum!”_ he exclaimed, and after a series of robust clicks, the door swung open of its own accord.

The entryway was dark, a single candle guttering in a sconce set high on the adjacent wall. A fire burned low in the huge stone hearth, its light flickering half-heartedly and throwing tall shadows on the walls. 

Moving quietly, Draco headed towards the drawing room in which he’d observed definite signs of life. As he drew nearer, he could hear voices, a rather shrill one rising above the other more controlled ones.

Pushing the double doors open, he strode in.

“Good evening, Mother. Father.” He greeted his parents with cordial formality. “Astoria. What a pleasure it is to see you again after so long.” His tone was icy. “It has been rather a long time, hasn’t it,” he continued conversationally. “Years, in fact. I understand you’re engaged to be married.”

“Draco!” Narcissa intervened, genuinely surprised at his sudden appearance. “I had no idea you were coming tonight. Did you, Lucius?” 

Lucius Malfoy shook his head. “No idea at all,” he replied, his words clipped. “However, it would seem that whatever the agenda is tonight, we are not meant to be participants.” He directed a suspicious, sidelong gaze at Astoria. “Did you know he’d be here?”

Astoria shrugged lightly. “Yes, of course I did. I was the one who asked him to come.”

“Summoned, more like. If you’ll excuse us,” Draco interjected, glancing at his parents, “my ex-wife and I have business to discuss. We’ll catch up later.” Nodding in the direction of the door, he grasped Astoria’s elbow, shepherding her out of the room.

“I have a feeling I know what this is about,” Narcissa remarked darkly. “We’ve already had something of a preview, I believe.”

Her husband nodded, his mouth a tight, grim line. “We have indeed. It remains to be seen whether Draco is able to put an end to that infernal woman’s demands once and for all. I am heartily sick of all of this.”

“And to think we encouraged the match, believing she would be the perfect wife for him.” Narcissa sighed deeply. “What a colossal mistake!”

“An error in judgement that has rebounded on us in ways we could not have anticipated.” Lucius had moved to the hearth and was gazing down at the flames. Reaching for the poker, he moved a log closer to the core of the fire. Immediately, it sparked and erupted into hot licks of flame. “Now it is in Draco’s hands, I'm afraid.”

Narcissa looked at Lucius sharply. “Good heavens, have some faith in our son for once, Lucius! I expect he is better equipped to manage her now than you realise. And that’s thanks in large part, I believe, to Hermione Granger encouraging him to really _be_ Scorpius’ father in more than name only. She also encouraged him to seek professional help for what troubles him so deeply. We’ve a lot to thank her for, and you must acknowledge that, Lucius. It’s all the more remarkable because it was here in this very room that my sister tortured her twenty years ago. And yet somehow, she has been able to transcend the memory. Surely, you remember.” 

Silently, he sank down into an armchair by the fire, gazing at the flames as if mesmerised. For long moments, he continued to say nothing. At last, he turned his head slowly, looking in her direction but seeming not to really see her. “Try as I might, my love,” he replied stiffly, “I have never been able to erase any of that terrible time from my mind or my thoughts. And you’re right, of course,” he added with obvious reluctance. “Draco owes the Granger woman a great deal. As do we.”

They fell silent then, the only sound the spit and crackle of the fire as another log caught and began to blaze. 

In the library, Draco had seated himself in a leather wing chair and now motioned for Astoria to take the adjacent seat. With no small degree of effort, he was keeping his words under tight control. It would not do to lose his temper; such a display would only reinforce the position she’d clung to all these years: that Draco was emotionally unstable and was incapable of providing the sort of steady support and guidance that their child needed. 

“Right. Let’s have it. What exactly do you want?” he asked without ceremony.

Astoria looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected such a blunt beginning to their conversation. Then, letting out a small tinkle of laughter, she smiled engagingly. It was a flirtatious smile that had, once upon a time, snagged Draco’s attention, giving him all manner of amorous ideas. 

“Oh, come now, darling,” she wheedled with every ounce of charm she possessed. “You needn’t take _that_ tone. Surely, we can be friends after all these years, can’t we?”

Same old playbook. Well, it wouldn’t work this time.

“No. We can’t. Now out with it, or I’m leaving,” he said grimly.

Astoria pouted prettily and flounced back into the chair again. “All right. Be that way. I just thought that for the sake of our son –”

“For the sake of our son? You actually have the brass to say those words to me? Listen carefully to me, Astoria.” He leaned closer, his face stiff with barely contained anger. “If you think that you can still wrap me around your little finger, making me believe I am and forever will be emotionally incapable of being a proper parent to Scorpius, think again. And if, as I suspect, you believe that you can plumb another well since the old one has now run dry, you have another think coming. Meaning,” he continued, thwarting her attempts to chime in, “you now see that there’s no more money coming from my parents, as Scorpius lives with me now. You can no longer claim childcare expenses and expect that they’ll continue to blindly fork over unending streams of cash. So you think – you have the unmitigated gall to believe – that you can tap into the Malfoy money another way, by threatening to expose family secrets, such as they are.”

Astoria’s mouth had fallen open and stayed in a perfect “O” of astonishment and protest. “How dare you, Draco! I am simply –” she began hotly, but the murderous look he shot her then silenced her completely, rendering any further protest futile.

“I will make you a one-time cash settlement. Consider yourself lucky to get it. After that, there will be no further money. You should know, too, that I intend to file for sole custody. And I am quite sure I will have no trouble getting it. My parents have been keeping a record of your absences in the last five years, for all your many so-called ‘extended holidays’ abroad. The reality is, you’ve been away from Scorpius far more than you’ve ever been with him. He is far happier with me at school than he ever was here with you. Thank the gods my parents have been here to take up the slack. And don’t even think of trying to fight me on this. You’ll only expose yourself for the selfish, superficial, incredibly greedy bitch that you are.”

The diatribe that Draco had unleashed rendered Astoria momentarily speechless, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“Oh, and your little blackmail scheme? Go ahead. Tell the world about my illness. I am not ashamed of it anymore. Remind the world that years ago, my father was a Death Eater and spent some time in Azkaban. Any unsavoury business dealings that my father was involved in before he retired? They’ve already been reported and restitution made, not that he would have announced that to you in any case. I’ve already alerted my parents to your intentions. There is nothing you could have learned while living here that they would be that anxious to conceal, nothing worth paying for merely to ensure your silence. So you see, _darling_ , you haven’t a leg to stand on. I suggest you find another sucker to keep you in the style to which you’ve clearly become accustomed. Your fiance, perhaps. I wish him luck, the poor sod. You are no longer welcome here.”

The sheer astonishment that greeted his words was palpable. Draco couldn’t recall ever seeing Astoria so utterly bereft of words. She stared at him in disbelief, as if she didn’t recognise the man before her, as if someone else had taken over his body and his mouth.

And then something extraordinary happened. Sidling up to Draco, she planted herself on his lap, twining her arms about his neck and leaning in so that her generous cleavage was practically in his face. “My, my,” she murmured, her tone honeyed and seductive. “Who are you, and what have you done with my ex-husband? I think I may have made a huge mistake, divorcing you.” She was practically purring in his ear now. “You’ve changed, Draco. You’re so … so powerful and commanding. It’s very sexy! I love it!”

Swiftly, he stood, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. “Give it up, Astoria. It’s over. Our lawyers will work out some sort of visitation schedule if you’re even remotely interested in seeing our son,” he informed her coldly, “but there will be no thought of taking him abroad. Ever. Nor even being in his company without me or one of my parents in attendance. In the meantime, I expect you to be packed and out of here by tomorrow lunchtime. My mother and father will keep me apprised of your actions. I don’t give a damn where you go or what you do. You can go to the devil for all I care.”

Turning on his heel, then, Draco exited the library to look for Lucius and Narcissa. Finding them where he’d left them, he filled them in quickly on all that had transpired. Their surprise and relief were evident. More than that, there was real pride in both his parents’ eyes. Seeing that was more than enough. He took his leave, Disapparating back to the Hogwarts grounds and arriving back fairly early. It had just gone ten pm.

His heart measurably lighter, he hurried along the corridors and up the stairs two at a time. Granger would be waiting for him.  
  
  


*

Hermione gazed thoughtfully at Draco over the rim of her wine glass. “What you did… I’m really impressed. It took a lot to say all that. To really stand up to her. It couldn’t have been easy.”

Draco smiled bitterly and tossed back the remains of his wine in a single gulp. “It wasn’t, but it shouldn’t have been that hard either. I _allowed_ her so much power. It was my own fault that she took such advantage. It was fear...” He looked her in the eye then, lifting his chin. “Fear of who and what I was – what I’d become because of everything I’d done years ago – and shame. You have no idea what self-loathing is like, Granger. It eats away at you and leaves nothing behind. You can never get past it because it _becomes_ you. It literally _defines_ you. Reorders the world around you, so you see it with different eyes. Over time, you feel as if you’re a rat on a treadmill, and nothing can break that cycle. Consider how it feels to contemplate parenthood. It becomes the most frightening prospect imaginable. You become absolutely paralysed. Stasis defines your life. There is no moving forward, no escape. And you think that surely, if you are so obviously contemptible, everyone else must feel that way about you as well.”

“I don’t,” Hermione said quietly, her gaze focused on the remains of wine in her glass, which glowed a brilliant ruby red in the firelight. “And neither do Professor McGonagall and the other teachers, and all the adoring students who take your classes.”

He snorted derisively then. “Come on, Granger! You cannot seriously count all those silly little girls with their crushes! It’s me one week and Teddy Strange of the Faefolk the next!”

She laughed briefly and shook her head. “Okay, yes, you’ve got a point. But really, nobody here feels about you the way you’ve felt about yourself for ever so long.”

Draco sighed deeply, sinking back in the armchair. He still felt a bit chilled from his walk across the grounds, and the warmth radiating from the fire felt good. “I’m more inclined to believe that now. Still not entirely sure, though. Some of the staff still look at me a bit cross-eyed at times. And you know, I still have a ways to go.”

“In your therapy, you mean,” she filled in. “Yes, I understand that. Of course I do. But you’ve made so much progress already. It’s really amazing.”

“Shocked, are you?” he heard himself replying, a slight but discernible bitterness in his voice now. “I reckon you didn’t really believe I could change.” The wounded expression on her face stopped him cold. “Oh hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he sighed. “That was just me, talking to myself. Stupid git. You see what I mean, though? There is still a lot of that black rot inside me. I’m the one who still doubts that I can really change.”

The pained look on Hermione’s face eased, the tension lines relaxing. “It’s okay. I understand. Believing it yourself is probably the hardest thing of all. But I do. Believe in you, I mean. I really do, Draco.”

She’d said his given name. Not just his surname for once. And the look in her eyes, the softness and openness he saw there, took his breath away. They were sitting mere inches apart, their armchairs drawn in tandem before the hearth. Firelight illuminated her face, washing her skin golden and sparking her eyes. A faint scent of vanilla mingled with the woodsmoke. 

_Now_. The time was now, to discover just what she’d felt about the kiss they’d shared. She wasn’t moving away. Instead, she seemed almost to be waiting. Waiting for him. Do it. Find out at last.

“Hermione,” he murmured, moving closer still and taking her hand in his. “I –”

“Ssh,” she whispered, reaching over and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder and then on the nape of his neck, her fingers buried in the soft, fair hair fringing his collar.

Their faces were so close now that their mouths were nearly touching, both of them breathing shallowly. Later, neither could remember who had initiated the actual contact. But both would recall the kiss in detail.

It was warm, so very warm, and sweet. Soft, pliant mouths, flicks of tongue gently exploring, lips moving over each other in a dance, drawing in and tasting, consuming, drinking each other down. Time slowed and stopped as the fire crackled and the firelight flickered, throwing them into silhouette. Without thinking, Draco pulled Hermione into his lap, and to his great relief, instead of breaking away, she wrapped her arms around his neck, their mouths never breaking contact. The kiss seemed to go on for uncharted ages. It was deep and drugging, tender, the answer to a primal thirst that had gone on too long unquenched.

Both had their answer.

  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	5. October to December 2016, Part Three

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814027703/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
  
  
After that, things were… _different._ At least, that’s the way that Hermione described them in her own ruminations, the memory wrapping her up like a warm cloak, amazing and strange, and still surprising by day, and positively toasty, even quite heated, come night, especially when she was lying in bed and reliving those moments. Which she did, rather a lot, smiling into the darkness and pressing her legs together to relieve the sudden, tingling flares of arousal.

As for Draco, much the same could be said, with the added caveat that with his abysmal luck in the romance department, nothing would come of what had happened between them. Better to simply take it for what it was – a lovely kiss, pleasurable and every bit as good as he’d hoped and fantasised it might be – and not pin too much emotion on it. Because of course, he was bound to be disappointed in the end. She’d decide he was still just too screwed up and choose to call a halt to whatever this _thing_ was that was developing between them. Well, he couldn’t blame her, really. It’s what any sensible woman would conclude. And Granger was nothing if not eminently sensible.

So, then, how to account for what had transpired between them? Momentary lapse of judgment on Granger’s part? A loss of control, letting a physical response sweep her away? If this was the case, then surely right about now, she’d be scolding herself for her loss of control and poor judgment, determined never to allow such weakness to take over again. 

But. BUT. She had _responded_ , and it had been nothing short of magnificent. He’d had more than enough experience with the fair sex to know when a woman was genuinely responsive to him and when she was faking it. Granger had been fully invested in that kiss. He was certain of it. She’d given as good as she’d received. Touching his lips lightly with two fingertips, Draco smiled at the thought, remembering the feel of her mouth on his. The kiss itself had been everything one could hope for. But there were other unmistakable signs of arousal as well: dilated pupils, hooded gaze, accelerated breathing that had turned shallow, everything he knew he was feeling and exhibiting himself. This had to count for something, at least. No fakery there. The kiss didn’t lie.

What to do? It seemed he was back where he’d begun. He would leave it at her doorstep, he decided. Let her make the next move, however that would take shape. The holidays were coming up and they would have a long break from classes. Perhaps he’d make a casual inquiry as to her plans. More than likely, he guessed, she’d take the kids back to their home outside of London. Her parents were there. And then there was the Weasley clan, who would no doubt lay claim to some of the long holiday as well. Grandparents’ privileges on both sides. Well, his son had grandparents as well. He still hadn’t quite worked out what the parameters of the contact would be between Scorpius and the Greengrasses. As for his own parents, they would certainly wish to spend a lot of time with their grandson, especially now that he no longer lived at the Manor. Right. This was good. He was feeling a bit better, less at sixes and sevens. Less like a lost and pathetic adolescent hanging on his unattainable crush’s every syllable. He’d be busy all on his own, and if they happened to see each other, okay. So much the better. But he wouldn’t be mortally wounded if they didn’t.

A stack of essays needed marking, but suddenly, Draco hadn’t the slightest inclination to be properly industrious. Pouring himself a second glass of brandy instead, he sat back down by the fire, the heat of the liquor coursing down his gullet as he gazed at the dancing flames.

_Granger._  
  
  


*

  
  
  
20 December  
Tuesday morning  
  
  
Exams had ended and the entire student body was caught up in a flurry of excited, last-minute packing as they prepared to depart the school for the two-week winter break. After lunch, they’d be transported by thestrel-drawn carriages to Hogsmeade Station to catch the Hogwarts Express back to London. A scant handful of students would stay behind for one reason or another, but they didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Draco observed, they actually seemed rather pleased about having the run of the castle for two whole weeks.

As for himself and Scorpius, their plans were rather loose, to say the least. “Loose” was putting a good face on it, he had to admit, as he strode along the corridors and down the staircases on his way to the cavernous potions classroom in the dungeons. He knew he was always welcome at the Manor; his parents would be thrilled to see him and especially Scorpius. As a member of the staff, however, he was obliged to stay behind until everyone who was leaving had gone, and then to inspect the classrooms, making sure that everything was in order and in its proper place. All staff were expected to do this same thing before departing to enjoy the holidays. He was on his way to do that very task now, starting with his own classroom.

The flasks and flagons, jars of all sizes, were neatly awaiting his inspection. The best one could say was that some of them were a bit dusty. Some little prat had written “please clean me” in the dust on three of them, one word on each. Frowning at the sheer cheek of the culprit, but unable to entirely ignore the laugh bubbling up in his chest, Draco took a cloth and wiped them down, carrying on wiping everything down as he made his way around the room. Picking up a book here, a forgotten quill there, he gradually set the room to rights. Suddenly, he realised he was absolutely famished.

He checked his watch. Nearly six. It had gone dark hours earlier. Scorpius would be with Granger’s kids, as he always was following lessons, and no doubt he would be pretty hungry by now as well. Hurrying along the corridors, he made his way up the stairs to the second floor and knocked on Hermione’s door.

It took a few seconds longer than usual, but finally, the door swung open. Hermione stood there, an apron over her leggings and t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a careless ponytail, some curls having escaped confinement and hanging loosely about her face. A streak of something red smeared her cheek, rosy with the heat of cooking and tending the fire in the hearth. Something smelled heavenly. 

Draco must have shown the surprise he felt, because she laughed and gestured for him to come in. “I finished my inspection early and the kids were positively starving. So, they took a vote, and now it’s officially Spaghetti Night. I hope that’s okay?” She darted a quick, questioning glance at him. “Were you and Scorpius planning to leave tonight? I hope I –”

“Not at all,” he hastened to reassure her. “We… uh… well, the fact is, we hadn’t made specific plans quite yet. I expect we’ll go to the Manor, of course. But beyond that, no plans in particular.” And now, an opening for the question he’d been wondering about for weeks. “What about you, then? Will you be leaving for London, going back to your house? Or…”

She grinned happily, and in that moment, she looked about ten years old. “Come sit by the fire,” she said, bustling about and pouring him a glass of wine. “Yes, we’re going home for the first week, and then to my parents and the Burrow for the second. I’m really looking forward to being home! I think Lunette is too,” she murmured fondly, stroking the dainty, little calico who was currently winding herself about Hermione’s legs and purring. “The kids definitely are. I think they miss our house a lot.”

She seated herself with her own glass of wine, sitting back and tucking up her legs comfortably. “What about Scorpius? He must be looking forward to being back at the Manor and seeing your parents.” 

Draco nodded. “I don’t believe he realised, when he asked if he could come and live with me here, that he would miss the old place and my parents quite so much. But really, it’s not surprising, is it? They and that house were all he knew his entire life. Though I don’t get the sense,” he added circumspectly, “that he’s missing his mother all that much. He barely saw her when she was there, which apparently wasn’t often in recent years.” 

Hermione nodded her understanding, and for a time, the two of them sat in quiet contemplation of the fire, sipping their wine and saying little.

Eventually, the three children burst into the room, full of energy and high spirits, particularly now that the holidays were very nearly upon them. Before long, they were all seated before steaming plates of spaghetti.

“Solstice tonight, you lot,” Hermione reminded them, smiling. “After supper, we’re going for a nature walk.” 

“Like we do at home?” Rose piped up excitedly.

“Very much like that, except of course, we are in the wilds of Scotland now. So there will be some differences as well.” Hermione twirled strands of the pasta expertly around the tines of her fork and popped the bite of food into her mouth. “After supper, you’ll need to write down a wish to send out into the universe.”

“Like we do at home?” Hugo asked, through a mouthful of spaghetti.

Hermione smiled. “Exactly like that.” She turned her attention to Draco and Scorpius. “Please join us, if you’d like to.”

Scorpius answered for both of them without hesitation. “We did Solstice stuff at home with Grandmere and Grandpere, but we never went outside and did anything cool.”

Draco caught Hermione’s eye over the children’s heads and they both grinned. “No,” he sighed, “there was never anything particularly cool, if memory serves.”

Shortly, the meal and the washing up were finished, and the five of them trooped out of the castle to the vast grounds surrounding it. 

“Where are we going, Mummy?” Rose asked plaintively, hands stuck deep into her pockets for warmth. 

Everyone was bundled up in hats, mufflers, warm cloaks, gloves and boots. They trudged through the powdery snow, deeper and deeper into the frigid quiet and calm. Overhead, the sky was crystal clear, black as ink, and bright with a canopy of silvery stars. The moon, a rotund silver lozenge in the blackness, cast an unearthly light. 

“You’ll see,” her mother replied, with a secretive smile.

Before long, the lake came into view, and in another few moments, they had reached its shores. The water was calm, not even a breath of wind disturbing its surface. The mer people and the giant squid were well hidden in its depths, nowhere to be seen. 

“Right,” Hermione announced happily. “Here we are. First thing we need to do is make a fire. We’ll need to find some nice, dry wood, or dry some that’s damp, if necessary.” She pulled out her wand, tapping its tip against the palm of her hand. “Off you go!”

The children scattered and began to hunt in the near vicinity, picking up sticks here and there and calling out to each other as they searched. As they did, Hermione reached into her bag, pulling out what appeared to be two small squares of cloth.

“ _Engorgio!_ ” she murmured, with a twirl of her wand, and instantly the squares of cloth morphed into a pair of generously sized blankets, which she and Draco spread out on the ground. Together they sat down and waited for the children to return.

They did, before very long, with armfuls of sticks in varying sizes. These they arranged on a nearby patch of bare ground.

“Allow me,” Draco offered with a rakish grin, pulling his own wand out of his cloak pocket. “ _Engorgio!_ ” he intoned, and then “ _Incendio!_ ” A jet of flame burst from the tip of his wand and set the firewood alight, some of the sticks much larger logs now. Immediately, a robust fire was crackling merrily, sending much-appreciated warmth to chilled fingers, toes, and noses. The children made themselves comfortable on the other blanket,.

“This is the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the whole year. Tomorrow will be the shortest day. The sun is now at its weakest. Does anyone know why that’s true?” Hermione asked, looking expectantly from one child to the next.

Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius thought for a moment, and then Rose’s hand shot up eagerly.

“It’s just us, Rosie,” her mother laughed. “It’s not school.”

“ _Well_ ,” Rose began purposefully, shooting her mother a mildly annoyed glance. “It’s to do with the way the earth moves around the sun. Isn’t it?”

Hermione nodded. “That’s right. After tonight, things will begin to shift again in the other direction. Even though it’s really cold now, the days will begin to get longer and the nights shorter. That’s because bit by bit, the sun is becoming stronger. The longest day and the shortest night of the year will come in June, exactly six months from now. And then things will turn about once again and go the other way. We celebrate the Solstices and the Equinoxes and other festivals as part of the Wheel of the Year. The Wheel keeps turning round and round, and so do the four seasons. Tonight,” she continued, “we celebrate the rebirth of the light. Even in the midst of the most frigid winter day, we know that very, very slowly, Mother Earth will be waking up from her long winter sleep, warmed by the strengthening sun. We celebrate the gradual return to life that we’ll see in the spring. That’s why we hang garlands of greenery. What are some very early signs of spring?”

“When the new leaves come out on the trees!” Hugo put in.

“And the days get a little warmer,” Scorpius added. 

“There’s an old Welsh story Grandmere used to tell me when I was even younger than you are, Scorpius,” Draco recalled. “It was about the god of fire, Bel, and the warrior god, Bran. The story goes that they fought each other, but neither really won. At the Winter Solstice, when the snow is the deepest, it appears that Bran has won the fight. But really, Bel is the winner, because now the days will get longer and warmer, over time. Likewise in June, when it would seem that Bel is the winner, because the sun is at its strongest, the winner is really Bran, because we know that even in the heat of the summer, the days are already getting shorter and the sun is growing weaker again.”

Scorpius nodded avidly. “She tells me that story every year! I didn’t know that you knew it too!”

Draco chuckled softly. “Since I was very small.”

“Now,” Hermione announced. “It’s time for our wishes. Has everybody got theirs?”

The children nodded, pulling small bits of paper from their pockets. From her bag, Hermione extricated five small blocks of wood shaped like boats, each with a rounded section scooped out, and five candles. Holding each candle over the fire for a moment, until the wax had begun to drip, she then affixed it to the block of wood, leaving a small amount of wax exposed. She repeated this procedure until all five blocks of wood had a candle attached, and then gave them out. 

“Okay,” she told them. “Fold up your wish and stick it here, where the wax is still soft.”

This they did and then waited, expectantly. 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Now we’ll light the candles and send our wishes out onto the lake, one at a time. Remember, when you put your little boat into the water, before you push it off on its journey, you must think about your wish very hard. Intention is very important for the magic to work. Who would like to go first?”

Scorpius raised a hand and Hermione nodded. He walked to his father, and held out his little boat and candle. 

“ _Incendio!_ ” Draco whispered, tapping the candle’s wick with the tip of his wand. 

The slender, blond boy walked to the water’s edge and knelt there, unmoving, for a full minute, his head bent and his face obscured. Then he launched his boat into the water, where it rode the tiny wavelets for a moment and then slowly drifted away, the spot of light from its candle blazing a tiny trail in the darkness.

Rose followed, and then Hugo. At last, the adults launched their own small boats and wishes, everyone watching, spellbound, until they were no more than distant bursts of golden light, bobbing above the wine-dark lake. 

At last, they vanished completely from view. Hermione turned to regard the children with a sly smile.

“Who would like to toast marshmallows?” she asked, fully prepared for the enthusiastic roar she got in response.

Later, as Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius were still preoccupied with their sweet, sticky treats and chattering amongst themselves, Draco and Hermione sat watching the still, dark waters of the lake and the tapestry of brilliant stars overhead. The moon was higher in the sky now, casting a broad swath of white light across the rippling water.

She shivered, and without thinking, he moved a bit closer, ready to enfold her within his cloak. But then he thought better of it. They were far from alone, and he wasn’t ready for a barrage of questions from the kids. “What did you wish for?” he asked instead. 

She shook her head. “Can’t tell you that,” she teased. “It ruins the wish if you tell. Didn’t you know that?”

Draco shrugged lightly. “I reckon not. I never made wishes when I was a kid. Or rather, I did when I was very young, but they never came true, at least not the way I wanted them to. So I stopped. It never seemed to make any difference whether I said what they were or not.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said softly. “I can’t imagine feeling that way. I hope your wish comes true.”

‘So do I,’ he thought. ‘More than you know.’

Thoughts of the wish he’d sent out over the lake warmed him through the night, visions of it colouring his dreams as the longest night of the year slowly passed.  
  
  
  


TBC


	6. October to December 2016, Part Four

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814888162/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
  
  
28 December  
Wednesday afternoon  
  
  
Slipping back into familiar routines at home had been as easy and effortless as pulling on a soft and comfortable old glove. Everyone fell into their old habits and routines. Hermione could tell that the children were taking great pleasure in being back in their own very familiar rooms. Even Lunette seemed to be reveling in their return home, re-marking all her favourite spots in the house by rubbing against them all with great energy and determination. The eight days had flown by, and now they were at her parents’ home in Watford, a quiet bedroom community outside of London where Hermione had grown up.

“What’s wrong, love?” her mother had asked her, as they sat together in the cosy kitchen. “Something’s obviously bothering you. I’ve noticed it since you arrived.”

Hermione had been standing by the cupboards, ostensibly about to brew a cup of tea for herself. Instead, she was lost in thought, a faraway, pensive expression on her face.

“What? Oh, nothing, Mum. I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” she replied mechanically, recovering herself.

Helene Granger raised a sceptical eyebrow. The answer had been just a bit too quick. It hadn’t particularly reassured her. “Hermione…”

“Okay, okay.” Hermione sighed, reaching for the box of loose tea. “It’s just… well, I was just thinking about this bloke. He teaches at Hogwarts, but actually, I’ve known him for ages. He was in my year there.”

“Oh, really?” Hermione’s mother perked up considerably. “What’s his name, then?”

There was a long pause, and then Hermione finally replied. “Draco Malfoy.” 

“Wait. Surely you can’t mean –”

She nodded. “Yes. _That_ Draco Malfoy. The bully who insulted me whenever he could. The spoiled brat who lorded his family’s money, status, and pureblood connections over everyone he considered beneath him.”

“The one,” Helene Granger continued pointedly, her demeanor wooden now, “who bullied you for years. The one whose aunt tortured you.”

Hermione nodded again. “Yes. Him. Trust me, if he were still that horrid person, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The fact is, he’s _not_ that person anymore. After twenty years, he’s grown up and changed. Really changed. In fact, he’s suffered from PTSD for years as a result of his dreadful experiences before and during the war. He’s in treatment now, though, and doing a lot better. 

“He has a son just Rosie’s age, a really sweet little boy called Scorpius. The kids have become really close. I should explain,” she added, noting her mother’s confused expression, “that he lives with Draco at the school, just as Hugo and Rosie live with me. Draco and his wife are divorced and he’s filing for sole custody. He’s a really good dad, actually. It’s pretty obvious that Scorpius adores him, which is amazing, considering that they didn’t see each other for most of Scorpius’ life until fairly recently. For a long time, Draco felt he wasn’t good father material, because of his illness. He gets these awful nightmares, you see, and he was afraid he’d do his son emotional harm, exposing him to all that. But for the last several months, he’s been in therapy with a wonderful healer, and he’s working on all that, and on his self-esteem as well. He’s genuinely ashamed of the person he was as a kid, growing up.”

Intuiting the answer even before she asked the question, Helene Granger asked, nevertheless. “So… what does all this have to do with you? Beyond the fact that you and he have clearly become friends, I mean.”

It was the question Hermione knew was coming. She steeled herself and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s like this. I think… I think that he’s in love with me.”

Her mother didn’t hesitate. “And you? How do you feel about him?”

Putting the answer into actual words and saying them out loud was the final hurdle. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him too, Mum.”

“All right then. Assuming he truly is the good person you say he is now, whatever is the problem?” The older woman folded her arms across her chest, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s like we’re doing this strange dance with each other. Or around each other, more to the point. We’ve spent a lot of time together, mostly with the kids of course. Rose and Hugo adore him. And I love Scorpius too. All that has been great. But sometimes… sometimes I do get a bit scared that some part of who he used to be will come to the surface again, that maybe it’s not all gone. I think he must be afraid of that scenario as well, to be honest. I think it’s at least part of the reason he’s held himself back up to now.”

Helene nodded, her brows furrowed. “Has he kissed you yet?”

Hermione’s brilliant smile was answer enough in itself. “Yes. Twice. The first time, it was a very little kiss, hardly anything, really, but it told me something. More recently, we had a real kiss. It was positively lovely. Oh, Mum!” she sighed, her eyes half closed as she remembered. “It was everything you’d want in a kiss, and more!

“The thing is, how do I proceed from here? I don’t want to overwhelm him. I certainly don’t want to make demands. He’s only just sorting himself out in the therapy sessions, finally, and figuring out how to be a good dad to his son. He’s made tremendous progress, I know, but I feel I have to let him set the pace on this.”

Helene brought her mug to her lips and blew on the hot tea for a moment. Then she gave her daughter a gentle smile. “Have you ever considered that just maybe, he’s waiting for a signal from you, darling? Maybe what you really need – what _he_ really needs and wants – is a clear signal from you beyond the response you’ve already given him.”

“I should think he’d realise how I feel already, from the way I kissed him back!” Hermione snorted. “What should I do, jump into his bed and surprise him one night?”

A sly, knowing smile spread very slowly across her mother’s face. “You know what, sweetheart? Something along those lines might be the very thing! I’ve had an idea. Sit down.”  
  
  


*

  


  


28 December  
Wednesday evening  
  
  
He had been at the Manor with Scorpius for precisely seven days now. It had been pleasant enough, coming home, and certainly a good deal nicer now that Astoria was gone, though she’d left him a score of shrill reminders of her in the form of notes, stacked up on the desk in his bedroom. He could handle the demands. It was easy now. He simply tossed them all into the fireplace, where a good fire was already popping and crackling cheerfully, and watched them burn, a satisfied grin on his face.

His parents had bent over backwards to make him feel comfortable. Or at least, his mother had done. Lucius’ entire effort had consisted, thus far, of making polite inquiries about Draco’s teaching experiences and how Scorpius was faring, making certain to slip in admonitions about making sure that his son would fall in with the right students.

“To begin with," he told his father firmly one evening, "Scorpius is not even old enough to be a first-year! He’s already made a couple of very nice friends, though. Kids of another staff member, actually. Second, when he does start next September, I won’t be feeding him the nonsense you indoctrinated me with, regarding the suitability of certain friends versus others. Times have changed, Father. _I’ve_ changed. I no longer believe in that rubbish. And neither should you, still, after all we went through twenty years ago!”

How much of what Draco had said truly penetrated his father’s high walls, he couldn’t be certain. But it didn’t really matter, because he was in charge of his son now, and he would be sure that Scorpius had values allowing him to see and accept others with an open mind and heart.

Lucius frowned, turning away to light his pipe. He sat for a long moment, staring into the fire blazing away in the hearth and puffing meditatively, and then cast a sidelong glance at Draco.

“Children of another staff member, you say. And who is that staff member, may I ask?”

Clearly, his father had listened very selectively. Nevertheless, Draco stood his ground. “It’s Hermione Granger, as a matter of fact. She teaches Muggle Studies, and she’s excellent. A very powerful and talented witch. She has a daughter Scorpius’ age, and a younger son.”

Lucius frowned, eyes narrowing. The elder Malfoy had made the obvious connections immediately, as Draco knew he would. “Hermione Granger. The one who –”

“Yes. Friend of Harry Potter. Muggleborn. The one Aunt Bella tortured so horrifically. The one whose torture _you watched._ I couldn’t look. But you did!” That final sentence was spat out, as Draco felt his anger rising like poisonous bile in his throat. “You should also know, Father, that I am in love with her. She has saved my life in every meaningful way. I hope one day to make her my wife. The idea is premature at this point. I don’t even know if she would have me, if I were to ask. But that’s irrelevant. The point is, from here on, _I_ am making the choices for my life and for my son’s life. Not you, not Mother, and most certainly not Astoria. Understand that. And accept it, or don’t. Whatever you choose. It no longer matters to me.”

Later, alone in his palatial bedroom, Draco sat by the fire, considering. What _would_ she say, he wondered, were he to propose? What he’d told his father earlier was certainly true: the very idea was ridiculously premature at this point, though if it were up to him, he’d make his vows to her today, this very moment, and he wouldn’t look back. But he mustn’t allow his impatience to get the better of his judgement. Right now, the plain fact was, he had not heard from her since they’d left the school for the winter break. It had been a full week and not a word. Each of the past seven days, he’d hoped for something. But there had been nothing. 

Wearily, he stretched out on the huge four-poster bed and closed his eyes. 

Sleep must have overtaken him, because the room had already grown dark by the time he awoke, a strange tapping sound coming from the window. 

Making his way to the offending window, he drew back the heavy velvet drapes. Through the small pane, one of many in the ancient, mullioned window, he could discern the outline of a bird. An owl. For him.

Quickly, he opened the window and the bird hopped inside, shivering and flexing its wings. It raised its leg, allowing Draco to remove the letter attached there.

It was a short note, but it caused his heart to swell. Quickly, he scanned its contents.  
  
_Hello Malfoy,_

_Have you got plans for New Year’s Eve yet? If not, perhaps we could spend the evening together. The plans themselves will be a surprise. But do get dressed up._

_Hermione_

_P.S. Please send Izzy back ASAP with your reply. And do please give her some water and a treat before she leaves. There are a few of her favourites in the envelope._  
  
Quickly, he shook the treats out of the envelope. The little owl eagerly scarfed them down and then gratefully accepted a small cup of water, all the while Draco hastily wrote his reply.  
  
_Hello yourself, Granger._

_As it happens, I am completely free on New Year’s Eve and very curious as to what you might have in mind. When and where shall we meet?_

_Draco_  
  
Folding up the parchment, he slipped it into a fresh envelope and affixed it to Izzy’s leg, waiting until the little owl was sufficiently rested and ready to take off. Then he opened the window, watched as she launched herself into the open air, and then closed it behind her, shutting out the sudden blast of arctic air that blew the papers about his desk.

New Year’s Eve. Perfect.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
31 December 2016  
Saturday, late afternoon/evening  
  
  
It had been a relatively mild afternoon, this final day of the year. Draco had done as Hermione had asked and donned his favourite dark suit after a long, relaxing soak in the tub. He’d chosen the crisp, cream-coloured dress shirt and dark, silk tie with great care as well. At last, he’d viewed himself in the full-length mirror, nodding with satisfaction after a long moment’s critical scrutiny.

The bath might have been relaxing for the time spent in the tub, but he’d been a bundle of nerves ever since. Those nerves were mounting, as he waited for Hermione at the designated spot. 

Anxiously, he scanned the length of Charing Cross Road as the sky darkened. It was only just past four o’clock and already, it was nearly as dark as the dead of night. And now, the air had turned sharply nippy, far chillier than it had been earlier in the day. At least his winter cloak was well lined and very warm. Wrapping his woollen muffler more snugly about his neck, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. 

Another quick scan up and down the road and Draco was ready to go inside the Leaky Cauldron to wait. 

Suddenly, there was a familiar voice right behind him. He turned quickly to find Hermione standing there, smiling brightly.

“Have you been waiting long? I'm so sorry I’m a few minutes late!” she told him hurriedly. “Things got a bit crazy at home with last-minute things that needed doing.”

“No, I only just got here myself,” he lied easily. Then he got a really good look at her and his breath caught in his throat.

Wrapped up as she was in a stylish, calf-length woollen coat in red, a woolly black muffler and gloves, and a pair of fashionable black pumps, he couldn’t tell what she was wearing underneath, but it didn’t matter, because just now, he was transfixed by what he could see. Her skin, dotted with tiny, pale freckles across the bridge of her nose, was creamy, her cheeks rosy with the cold. Her eyes, made up with intentionally dramatic flair, were huge and mesmerising, her hair pulled back into a glossy chignon at the nape of her neck. A few loose curls framed her face rather fetchingly. Diamond earrings winked and sparkled at her ear lobes. She looked… incandescent. Enchanting. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, offering her his arm. 

She slipped her arm through his and beamed up at him. “Thank you. You look wonderful yourself. Are you ready for a very full evening? I’ve loads planned!”

“Sounds intriguing,” he replied, grinning. “Lead on!”

“Right, well, first thing we’re going to do is walk over to Covent Garden. It isn’t far. Have you ever been there? Probably not, “ she said, answering her own question and then glancing at him for confirmation.

He shook his head no, and she continued, nodding. “I thought not. Well, I’ll just say this for now: the theme for tonight is an introduction to Muggle life and celebrations. I think you’ll find it interesting and, I hope, a lot of fun as well. Come on.”

“What is Covent Garden, anyway?” he asked, as they strolled along. “Not, I suspect, an actual garden. Am I right?”

“You’re absolutely right,” she affirmed. “It’s a huge, open-air market, full of cafes and restaurants and vendors selling everything you could possibly want. It’s crowded and busy and one of my favourite places in Muggle London. Look,” she said, pointing ahead. “There it is!”

An enormous, semi-enclosed market beckoned, throngs of natives and tourists crowding the entrances. Inside, the market itself featured a myriad of vendors of all sorts, beneath green, metal structures that arched high overhead. The Apple Market, a section within, featured artisan-made goods. Apart from the vendors whose booths were set up in the centre of the floor, there were small, cosy shops of many sorts lining the lengths of both perimeters. There was a lively, bustling spirit everywhere, and Draco found himself captivated and a bit nonplussed by the sheer number and variety of items for sale all around him, though he could have done without the intense crowding. Wisely, he kept that bit to himself, seeing the high colour and big smile in Hermione’s expression.

Eventually, they made their way into Neal’s Yard, adjacent streets as crookedly crammed together, higgledy piggledy, and narrow as Diagon Alley. He remarked as such, as they squeezed their way past Hair By Fairy, a massage therapist, a nail salon, and a bookshop. Granger’s hand was firmly in his, ostensibly so that they wouldn’t become separated. But Draco was not complaining. He gave her hand a quick squeeze and she glanced up at him briefly, a tiny, cryptic smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

“Where to now?” he asked eventually, suppressing a sigh of relief as they emerged from the maze of busy, narrow lanes.

“Well, I thought we could start with a drink, as we won’t be having dinner for a while yet. Does that sound good?”

“Very good indeed!” he replied. “Where?”

“Oh, there’s a little place I know called Eve. It’s in the basement of a restaurant called Frog, believe it or not.” She laughed as she shared that, eyes sparkling. “Come on, it’s not far. I really think you’ll like it.”

Before long, they arrived at the restaurant, housed in a red-brick building circa about 1900, with imposing, blue and green pillars and large, plate-glass windows in front. Making their way through to the back, they found the entrance to the downstairs bar and an imposing message lit up in red neon: _Resist everything except temptation._

“How very Slytherin,” Draco muttered to himself, biting back a grin. He glanced at Hermione, whose own lips were twitching, though she said nothing.

Entering Eve, they found a darkly cosy hideaway with a long, polished mahogany bar and generously sized booths made to resemble woodland thickets, each with a plush sofa and ivy thickly interwoven overhead, glowing with tiny, white fairy lights. Large, stained-glass depictions of Adam and Eve hung above a pair of plush, blue sofas, opposite the bar.

“Enterprising,” Draco remarked, as they seated themselves. 

“Have a look at the drinks menu and then I’ll go and order. Just a warning, though: the drinks are very strong here. We’ll probably want to eat something as well, just so we don’t get totally pissed. That happened to me once, on a blind date when I was home for the winter holidays in sixth year.”

Draco looked at her, startled. 

“I went as a favour to my parents.” She sighed deeply. “He was the son of friends of theirs. I couldn’t really say no. As it happens, he was nice enough, but not someone I could ever be remotely interested in. Dull as dishwater, actually. I think now, in retrospect, that getting that drunk was probably a blessing!” Hermione laughed lightly, pushing a drinks menu toward Draco.

There was a lot to peruse, and he was still eyeing everything, reading all the descriptions, when Hermione closed her menu with a decisive snap.

“What are you having, then?” he asked, as it was evident that she already knew.

She didn’t hesitate. “The Pina Colada. I love coconut, and this drink has that and a lot more besides.”

“What’s in it?”

“Well, let’s see, it’s fizzy, for starters… oh, look, it’s described right here.” She pointed to the middle of the drinks list. “Rum, coconut, pineapple, elderflower and whisky. It’s delicious.” 

“I’m game.” He grinned, closing his own menu. “And thirsty.”

Two rather generous Pina Coladas and a bowl of beer nuts later, both Draco and Hermione were feeling very little pain. 

“There’s a bit left,” she observed gravely, the tip of her index finger prodding his nearly empty glass. “Have it.”

Draco shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not, Granger. What sort of gentleman would I be if I hogged the last bit of this positively ambrosial drink? You have it.” He pushed the glass two inches closer to her and folded his arms, satisfied.

“Well, all right.” Nodding agreeably, she laughed. “Far be it from me to reject such a display of chivalry.” Reaching for the glass, she tossed back the remainder of the drink and set the glass down with a decided _clunk_. “Right. Feeling up to a bit of a walk, then?”

At that moment, Draco couldn’t be certain whether a walk was even a reasonable possibility, given the pleasant, pink fog that had settled over his brain. But a certain bravado swept over him now; he gave Hermione a jaunty, if crooked, salute and attempted to stand. His feet apparently had minds of their own, however, and he overbalanced a tad.

“Oh gosh!” she giggled, standing and grabbing his arm as much to steady herself as to keep him from wobbling. “Are you okay?”

Draco pulled a wounded expression. “You cut me to the quick, Professor Granger. I’ll have you know my drinking exploits are legend in Slytherin House.” He held out his arm, and together, they made their way to the exit and up the stairs to the restaurant, which was, by this time, full up with revellers.

Emerging into the street, equally crowded with holiday merrymakers, they moved slowly, threading their way along Charing Cross Road once again, heading in the general direction of the Victoria Embankment. The night was crisp and clear, the sky blackened and blazing with stars. Huge and full, the moon shone brightly, bathing everything in pure, silvery light. 

“Important landmark, I presume?” Draco observed eventually, pointing to a collection of historic buildings, statuary, and an enormous fountain as they passed it. 

“Oh yes. That’s Trafalgar Square. Very famous tourist attraction. It’s meant to honour Admiral Horatio Nelson for his victory against Napoleon in the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. That’s Nelson’s Column, the tall one.” 

Typical bookworm response. She was still a walking compendium of knowledge, all sorts. Amused, Draco just barely avoided rolling his eyes. Trust Granger to have all pertinent information, probably even the minutiae, literally at her fingertips, ready and eager to share. Not surprisingly, all of this was utterly foreign to Draco, and once again, he recognised the profound divide between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. It also underscored the fact that Muggleborns like Hermione had no choice but to straddle both worlds and learn to live in each successfully. He was still mulling this over when she spoke up again.

“See that bridge up ahead?” She pointed to a span in the near distance. “That's the Hungerford Bridge. And right next to it are the Golden Jubilee Bridges, built to honor the 50th anniversary of the Queen’s accession to the throne back in 1952. We’re going to cross the river just there.”

The cold air had sobered both of them up very quickly, and now they proceeded with clear heads and a far steadier and quicker gait. A light dusting of snow had begun to fall gently and intermittently, tiny white snowflakes like miniature stars swirling crazily and landing on shoulders and heads, only to melt into nothingness almost at once. 

Hermione shivered, and without thinking, Draco reached out an arm to hug her closer, surprising even himself with the spontaneity of the gesture. For a moment, he stiffened, uncertain if this sudden, affectionate gesture would be rebuffed. When it wasn’t, he felt himself relax right down to his bones. Nevertheless, he stole a quick glance at Hermione, and saw that in fact, she seemed quite comfortable with his arm about her shoulders and walking literally pressed up against him. The implied intimacy of the situation appeared to be completely acceptable to her.

They walked on, and then Draco sucked in a sharp breath.

“Merlin, what the hell is _that_?” he asked, staring at something in the distance as they neared the bridges. 

“What? Oh! Do you mean that?” Hermione laughed delightedly. “That, Malfoy, is where we are headed right now. It’s the London Eye, and we are going for a ride!”

At any time of year, the London Eye was a sight to behold, particularly on a clear night against a backdrop of stars and especially a bright moon. The giant observation wheel, rising 443 feet in the air, turned slowly, giving passengers a spectacular view of London on both sides of the Thames. At night, of course, the city was lit up like the jewel in the crown that it surely was. And while weather was never an obstacle for those who wished to experience it – passengers rode enclosed securely in large, glass capsules that afforded marvellous views at all times – a ride on the London Eye on a clear winter’s night was possibly the most wonderful experience of all.

Grinning, Hermione took his hand and drew him ever closer along the Queen’s Walk, passing the lovely Jubilee Gardens, which made no impression whatsoever. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle ahead, staring as if mesmerised. 

“Bloody hell!” he murmured, apparently lost for further words. 

Before he knew it, Hermione had purchased their tickets and they were queuing up to board the Eye. Each capsule held twenty-five passengers in a climate-controlled space that had plenty of comfortable seating, lots of room to move about, and superb views from every possible side and angle. 

They stood side by side, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city that fell away below them as they climbed high into the air. 

“How long does it take for the wheel to go round completely?” he asked eventually, ungluing his eyes from the glittering city panorama momentarily. 

“Half an hour,” Hermione replied promptly. “We can see a full twenty-five miles in either direction at the very top. Impressive, yeah?”

“Indeed,” Draco murmured, still gobsmacked. Hermione continued in her self-appointed role as tour guide, chattering on about Big Ben, Westminster, and the Gun Powder Plot of 1605, but for the moment at least, Draco wasn’t really listening. Instead, he found himself deep in thought, struck by the vastness and distinctly foreign flavor of this other world that co-existed right alongside his own. He’d had no clue that Muggles could be so inventive, so tuned in, albeit obliviously, to the inherent magic in the world at large and able to tap into it to create something as special as this.

As they approached the zenith of the ride, an employee circulated about the capsule, bearing a tray of champagne flutes. 

“Would you care for some champagne?” he asked graciously.

Hermione didn’t hesitate, taking a glass for herself and one for Draco. “Thank you, yes.” 

He accepted it with a crooked smile, wondering what was coming next. Because surely, something amazing would be, if he knew Granger at all. The answer came not two minutes later, just as they were cresting the giant circle the wheel was circumscribing in the sky. With a tremendous bang, fireworks exploded over the river, ribbons of scarlet, vermillion, green, gold and pink soaring into the heavens and falling away into the river in showers of stars. Over and over again, the fiery lights erupted, suns and moons and stars flooding the sky in thunderous explosions of colour and sound.

It wasn’t midnight yet, but Hermione turned to Draco. She touched the rim of her champagne flute to his. “Happy New Year, Malfoy,” she said softly. 

“Happy New Year, Granger,” he replied, bending to brush her mouth with his own in a warm, utterly spontaneous, happy secret of a kiss. “Wonderful New Year’s Eve celebration.” He took a sip of champagne now that his heart had slowed to a normal rhythm. “It’s been incredible.”

“Oh, but it’s not over yet,” Hermione told him, her smile now turning secretive and sly. 

“Another surprise?” Draco laughed out loud at this. “What are you trying to do, Granger? Kill me?”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage,” she replied airily, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Come on. It’s almost time to disembark.”

They strolled along The Queen’s Walk, which meandered along the banks of the Thames. Hermione was keeping mum about their next destination, but it wasn’t long before she laid a hand on Draco’s arm and pointed. 

“Look,” she told him excitedly. “Any idea what that is?”

The structure she was singling out was oddly round, distinctly Elizabethan in design (he knew that much, having done some reading on the lives and persecutions of witches and wizards in the16th century, including those who had passed for Muggles and had become prominent in their professions), and had colourful banners and posters apparently advertising performances. Tonight, in honour of New Year’s Eve, it was bathed in a lavender light, making it look even more like a jewel.

“Actually, I believe I do,” he replied triumphantly. “It’s the Globe Theatre, if I’m not mistaken.”

Hermione goggled at him for a minute, and then collected herself, flashing him a huge, delighted grin. “That’s right! But … however did you know?”

“Surely, Granger,” he replied a tad smugly, “you must know that William Shakespeare was a wizard. Closeted, yes, but a wizard nevertheless. I’ve seen drawings of the Globe in some of the books I’ve read. Except… it looks a hell of a lot better than I’d have expected, given its age.”

“Ah, now there I’m one up on you, Malfoy,” she said, recovering her slightly dented scholarly pride. “This is a recreation of the original Globe, which was built in 1599 and burnt down in 1613. This new one was built in 1997, so it’s not very old at all, really. Supposedly, it duplicates the original down to the smallest detail.” She paused, slanting a quick look at him. “Would you like to see a play sometime?”

Now there was an idea, one that he couldn’t pass up. He nodded, scrutinising the framed posters as they passed.

“’Measure for Measure,’” he read. “’A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ Have you read either of these plays?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Mmm. They’re wonderful. We’ll go sometime, shall we?”

It would be a date, for sure. The small ember he had tucked away deep inside himself was growing larger and warmer as the evening passed, slowly flooding him with a happiness he had not known for many years. It was a feeling he still didn’t entirely trust, however, because it could so easily slip away and vanish from his life. And he still wasn’t entirely certain he even deserved to feel this happy after the cock-up he’d made of his earlier life. So he would hold onto this with open hands, ready to deal with the disappointment he still half expected would come eventually. In the meantime, there was apparently another bridge to cross, quite literally. In just a few minutes, they found themselves back on the other side of the river.

A moment’s walk later, Hermione stopped him again. “There,” she said quietly. “That’s where we’re going for dinner.”

They were standing outside of Vintry and Mercer, Hoteliers, number 20 Garlick Hill, City of London. The street was cobbled, uneven, and very old, but the building itself looked fairly new and yet quite unselfconsciously stylish.. 

A hotel? Draco’s mind went into instant overdrive, and he took a deep breath to calm the immediate frisson of excitement into which his imagination had pitched him. Mental pictures of potential hotel scenarios were causing an uncomfortable upheaval in his trousers, and suddenly, he was grateful for the camouflage provided by the voluminous winter cloak he wore. 

‘Relax, idiot,’ he told himself. ‘Hotels commonly have restaurants. We’re going to dinner. That’s _all._ ’

“I’ve read a million reviews of this place,” she confided as they headed inside. “I hope you’re hungry! It’s supposed to be amazing. I’ve always wanted to have dinner here, but the opportunity never came up.”

“Well, then, I’m honoured that you chose to share it with me.” Draco flashed her a quick grin. “Shall we?” he asked, holding out his arm. “I’m absolutely famished.”

“Yes, indeed,” she said, with a radiant smile, looping her arm through his. “The restaurant is on the roof, actually. We’ll need to take the lift.”

She pushed the button marked “Rooftop Terrace” and there was a gentle, smooth, whooshing sensation as the lift rose silently to the highest level. The doors slid open to reveal a beautiful space, its walls and ceiling all glass. Greenery in the outdoor dining garden lined the glass walls, and beyond that, there were stunning views of the city on all sides. Candles flickered on each table, alongside tall, glass vases filled with fresh-cut flowers.

They were seated immediately, whereupon Hermione shrugged off her long, woollen coat. Draco couldn’t help but stare.

She wore an elegantly simple black crepe cocktail frock, form-fitting to flatter her slim figure and falling to just above the knee, with ruching along one side. Three-quarter sleeves hugged her arms to just below the elbow. An off-the-shoulder neckline drew immediate attention to a pair of lovely, bare shoulders and her slender neck, while a discreet slit just below it hinted at a swell of creamy bosom. A delicate diamond bracelet and matching studs in her ears were the only jewelry.

“Do I pass muster?” she teased, blushing prettily.

“You look breathtaking!” he murmured, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Well,” she said, almost to herself, still warmly flushed with embarrassment and pleasure in equal measures, “I suppose we ought to look at the menu. They’ll be wanting to take our dinner order soon.” Picking up one of the two menus, she disappeared behind it, wishing she could fan herself with it instead. The way Malfoy had looked at her was akin to being worshipped and slowly, sensuously undressed at the same time.

As for Draco, he couldn’t help a cocky and rather wolfish grin. He’d made her blush and he was utterly unrepentant about it. That he could induce such a response in her just with a look – though granted, the look had spoken volumes – was extremely satisfying, evocative of a whole new series of fantasies to which his imagination and libido had now given rise. At the same time, common sense reminded him to take things slowly and not push. He would let her set the pace, no matter how long it took. He would watch for signals from her and go from there. He would be patient. Glancing around the glass-walled room, candlelit and romantic, he thought about the many beds in rooms below his feet.

Forcing his attention back to his own menu, he cleared his throat. “What will you have?”

By this time, Hermione had collected herself. No longer hiding behind the menu, she had lowered it a bit, so that the upper portion of her face was now visible. “I think,” she mused, “I might like to have the chicken glazed with honey and lavender. That sounds lovely. What are you in the mood for, Malfoy?”

A loaded question if ever there were one. Draco swallowed a half laugh, half gulp, and ducked behind his own menu, studying it with exaggerated attention.

“Well,” he replied eventually, “the fish sounds excellent. I’ll have that, I think. What about the small plates for starters? The smoked salmon with horseradish cream, for instance. Care to sample it along with me?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “What about the croquettes? I bet they’re delicious.”

The waiter arrived just as they’d decided on drinks. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked, with a dramatic flourish. “May I interest either of you in a glass of the bubbly in honour of the occasion, perhaps?”

“A bottle of your best, I think,” Draco replied promptly, garnering a quick, surprised glance from Hermione.

“Oh, but –” she began, but he waved away whatever she’d been about to say, adding, “My treat.”

“That will be our Charles Heidsieck Brut, sir. An excellent choice,” the waiter purred. “And now… are you and your lovely lady ready to order?”

Moments later, the waiter had taken their order and disappeared. Hermione sat back, regarding Draco with open curiosity and surprise.

“Malfoy, this was supposed to be my treat,” she began, but again, he stopped her.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And it would have been a really lovely gesture. Not to mention a first for me. I’ve never been taken out to dinner by a woman before. It’s always been the other way round. Astoria always insisted on my covering the bill for whatever we did. And other women I dated were uniformly the same. The expectation was always that I would pay, because of course, I could. Tonight, your intention was to take me out. And I’m sure you could have done. But honestly, something like this really is a lot easier for me than for most people. It would give me great pleasure to cover dinner.” _And anything else that I hope will be on the agenda._ “You’ve already paid for quite a lot. Will you allow me to do this?”

“Well…” she began slowly. “Put that way… I do appreciate the gesture. It’s very generous. Thank you. Very egalitarian, too,” she added, with a tiny smile. “But… I don’t quite understand. How will you pay for all this? You haven’t got any Muggle money, have you?”

And now Draco’s smile became positively smug. “In point of fact, I do. There is a pub in the village closest to the Manor – the White Hart. It’s an ordinary village pub for all intents and purposes, but it’s got a set of secret rooms upstairs that are reserved for wizarding clientele, my father and me included. Because they handle both Muggle customers and wizarding ones, they have both currencies readily to hand. I made sure to stop there before leaving for London, to change some money. I had no idea, of course, what you had planned, but I hoped I could contribute, if you’d allow it. I’m afraid you’ll have to help me identify everything, though. I’ve no idea what’s what.” 

Hermione giggled, nodding her acquiescence. “Of course I’ll help. It’ll be fun, teaching you about Muggle money.”

Shortly thereafter, the waiter reappeared with a bottle of chilled champagne in a bucket of ice, a pair of glasses, and their starter dishes.  
Pouring out two glasses, he offered one to Draco to taste, but he waved the waiter away in Hermione’s direction.

The waiter smiled with sudden understanding and offered the glass to Hermione, who took in its aroma and then indulged in a small taste. 

“Exquisite,” she sighed. “Just perfect.”

At that, the waiter set the second flute down and served their croquettes and salmon, vanishing once again as discreetly as he’d arrived a few moments before.

“To the new year,” Draco proclaimed, touching his glass to hers. “To…”

“Our children,” Hermione put in. “And to…”

“Friendship. To special friendships, that is,” he amended. “The really extraordinary ones.” He hoped she would understand what he was trying to tell her between the lines.

There was no overt hint that she had. She merely nodded her agreement, murmuring, “To friendship,” and took a sip of her own champagne, followed by a bite of salmon topped with horseradish cream.

“Mmm. This is incredible.” Her eyes drifted closed as she savoured the flavours that had married themselves so beautifully in her mouth. “Oh my... Malfoy, taste this!” 

Without thinking, she offered him a bite on her own fork and he took it, grasping her wrist and drawing her hand quite close to his mouth as he did so. He’d never enjoyed being fed by a woman before, always feeling a bit ridiculous, but somehow, tonight was different. Hermione’s rapturous expression had cast a spell on him and now he was being carried along on a shared wave of gastronomic pleasure. And this was only the beginning of the meal.

From that point on, neither could be sure how much of the magic between them was because of the extraordinary food alone and how much was a snowballing electricity crackling between them and intensifying with every orgasmic bite. Much of the time was spent silently eating and gazing at each other as they did so, seduced by the meal and so much more. There was no desire or need to talk beyond occasional sighs and exclamations of enjoyment. The food beckoned with its own siren song.

The spell was broken at last by the waiter, who made a timely reappearance to check on the status of the meal and inquire about their interest in something sweet for afters.

Both Draco and Hermione gazed up at him, slightly dazed. He wasn’t surprised. Apparently, he’d seen this precise reaction before, many times. With a knowing smile, he handed them menus.

“If I might make a recommendation…” he began, fully aware that he could suggest a block of wood at this point and they’d probably be ready to try it.

“Oh yes, please,” Hermione said weakly. “What do you like best?”

“Well, we have a marvellous dark-chocolate mousse. It’s served with chocolate ice cream and a hazelnut praline crumble. Quite our most popular offering. It’s very rich, however, so I always recommend that it be shared.” He looked at them and waited, playing a little mental game as he did. It was always fun to wager with himself which diners would go for the mousse and which ones would choose something else or pass on dessert altogether. He’d bet money that this couple would go for the mousse. They seemed the type, hedonists at heart.

“We’ll have the mousse,” Draco told him, sitting back and trying to breathe properly. “And coffee. Espresso for me. Hermione?”

“Cappuccino, please,” she answered, a hand on her midsection. “Merlin,” she whispered, as soon as the waiter had moved out of earshot. “I think maybe we oughtn’t to have ordered that mousse.”

“We’ll take our time with it. There’s no hurry. After all, it’s only…” he checked his watch. “Half nine. The night is young.”

The chocolate mousse was truly in a class by itself. “Rich” didn’t even do it justice. The combination of luscious, deeply chocolate pudding and ice cream, mixed with the hazelnut praline crumble, rendered each bite a thing of beauty.

“This reminds me of the cakes my mother used to send me when I was at school,” Draco sighed. “But better.”

The glass bowl containing the mousse was set in the centre of the table within easy reach. Dipping her spoon into the confection, Hermione spooned up a small bite, the tip of her tongue darting out to collect a bit of the mousse still on her lip. This small movement caught Draco’s eye immediately and he began to watch her eat. The same action was repeated again and again, but even more slowly, until Draco found himself waiting for that beguiling little pink tongue to emerge. As he watched, he spooned the mousse into his own mouth, keeping pace with Hermione, albeit totally unaware of what he was doing and the effect it was having on her. Apparently, she had been watching him as intently as he was watching her.

“Granger…” he faltered at last, gripping the edge of the table and breathing deeply. “Hermione… I…”

She was looking at him most curiously. She seemed dazed, enthralled. Carefully, she set her spoon down and cleared her throat.

“I’m… uh…” she started and then trailed off, seemingly unsure of what to say next. It was his eyes. She couldn’t seem to look away. His gaze was arresting, fuelling a hunger that had been gradually building all evening, a hunger that had nothing to do with the food they’d just consumed. She squirmed in her seat, hoping to relieve the sensation that was building _there_.

“Do you have to be home tonight?” he managed to ask finally. “The kids are with your parents, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They are. So no, I don’t have to be home.” Hermione’s heart was beginning to skip beats, or so it seemed. She couldn’t breathe. Because of course, quite suddenly, she knew what he was about to propose. She’d been thinking about the possibility all day.

“Would you… do you think you might like to stop here tonight? With me? We could see out the old year together. There’s really no-one I’d rather do that with.” There. He’d said it. Quickly, he glanced at her to gauge her reaction to his proposition. No, not a proposition. An _idea_. He would not allow it to be cheapened by the wrong word. 

Her heart seemed to be in her throat as she smiled tentatively and nodded. “I’d like that. Very much,” she told him, almost shyly. “Please wrap up the rest of the mousse,” she told the waiter when he returned. 

“And the champagne as well,” Draco added firmly. “We’ll be stopping.”

As they headed towards the lifts, the waiter grinned, shaking his head. Yet another bet he’d made with himself that was right on the money. Total hedonists. He knew it.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
As it happened, there was already a reservation waiting in Hermione’s name, as Draco discovered when he inquired at the front desk. The kernel of warmth that had been growing stronger all day long now nearly burst into happy flames. She’d wanted this too, from the start! She’d hoped he would ask! And apparently – most incredibly of all – even if he hadn’t, she would have found a way.

A teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he turned to her. She looked back at him, wide-eyed and innocent, though her mouth was twitching as well. 

“You…!” he began, lost for words, and the grin blossomed into a chuckle. “Are you sure you weren’t Sorted into the wrong house?”

“Oh, I think not,” she replied breezily, though her cheeks had gone adorably rosy once again. “We Gryffindors know how to get things done.”

On their way back to the lift, room keys in hand, Draco slid an arm about her and leaned in very close. The delicious scent of her hair, a hint of vanilla, filled his senses. “Are you seducing me, Professor Granger?”

“I certainly hope so,” she murmured. 

The kiss they shared in the lift was a heated preamble to later fireworks of a very different sort. The moment the lift doors slid shut, he pulled her close. For several long seconds, they gazed at each other, a thousand words passing silently between them, and then he kissed her deeply and ardently. This time, there was an urgency that was new. Suddenly, they couldn’t get enough of each other; it was like falling, falling, and never hitting bottom. 

Stumbling out of the lift, they lurched towards their room, which was at the end of the corridor. It was all either of them could do not to strip off as they ran. Fumbling with the key card, Draco looked frantically at Hermione.

“Bloody Muggle inventions! How do you work this thing?” he hissed.

She grabbed the card from him and slid it into the slot on the door. The red light turned green, she wrenched open the door handle, and they rushed in, throwing cloak and coat, mufflers and gloves, on the desk near the large sliding glass doors that opened onto a balcony. The fact that there was a balcony made no impression just now. Both were far too intent on getting rid of clothing that was an annoying impediment at the moment.

And then, quite abruptly, Draco grabbed Hermione’s shoulders. Taking a deep, calming breath, he murmured, “Wait! Please. This isn’t how I wanted it to be, our first time.” He pointed to the upholstered chair. “Sit.”

Giving him a curious look, she did as he had asked and sat down. Immediately, he knelt by her feet and began to unstrap her shoes. He removed one and then the other, holding each foot tenderly, lovingly, massaging each one with practiced hands. 

“Where ever did you learn to do that?” Hermione sighed ecstatically, slipping down in the chair, her eyes drifting shut. 

Draco gave her a cocky grin. “Oh, let’s just say I’ve made it my business to learn, over the years. Every woman I have ever known has a thing for a good foot massage. It’s quite simple. I just do what I feel I would enjoy.”

“Don’t stop!” she whispered, a beatific smile on her face now.

Draco said nothing, merely smiling to himself as he began working his way up to her calves, kneading and massaging rhythmically as he went. Eventually, he reached her knees. Slipping his hands beneath the hem of her frock and sliding them up the insides of her thighs (a seriously gratifying intake of breath from Granger!), he discovered something he hadn’t expected but that immediately raised the temperature in the room and more importantly, in his groin: garters.

“I’ll just leave these on for now, shall I?” he remarked half to himself, and then reached for her arms, pulling her to her feet. “Up you get, darling. Now,” he murmured, moving around to stand behind her. “Let’s see what small obstacles this lovely frock might yet present. Ah. A zip. Excellent. Much more drama with zips. But first…”

The nape of her neck and her bare shoulders were like a feast before him. He dipped his head low and began to nuzzle the smooth, pale, faintly perfumed skin there, leaving a trail of tiny kisses everywhere he could explore and taste. The side of her neck from earlobe to shoulder was especially sensitive, he discovered, when she let out a low, thrilling moan that went straight to his crotch. He was already quite hard, but nowhere near ready to act on it. Too much pleasurable exploring to do, and he was determined to make it wonderful for Hermione.

She tried to turn and face him, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I mean to savour every inch of you, Hermione Granger. There’s no rush.” 

Carefully, he removed the hairpins, one by one, that held her chignon in place, freeing her hair so that it fell loosely over her shoulders. Ever so slowly, then, he began unzipping the frock, discovering to his delight that she wore no bra. There was simply an open expanse of bare back for him to run the tips of his fingers across and then taste with a constellation of kisses and licks, one for each tiny freckle and many more just because her skin was so smooth and perfect in his sight.

Eventually, the dress slid to the floor. At Draco’s request, Hermione continued to stand as still as a statue, which for her amounted to a kind of torture, the ultimate exercise in self-restraint. She wore only a silk half-slip and beneath that, stockings and a lacy garter belt. His breath caught in his throat as he surveyed her from head to toe, astonished at her unselfconscious beauty and equally, her trust in him.

Moving closer, he ran his hands lightly from her silk-clad hips down to her ankles and then reversed their direction, grasping the lacy hem of her slip and pulling it down to the floor. She stepped out of the garment pooling at her feet and waited, almost unable to breathe as she anticipated what Draco would do next. She knew he must have noticed by now that she was not wearing any knickers beneath the garter belt.

He had. Staring hungrily at her near-nakedness, he forced himself to wait, his heart hammering in his chest. A full minute passed, and then he could wait no longer. Pressed up against her, he wrapped his arms around her slender waist from behind and then moved his hands up over her ribcage to discover her bare breasts. Full and firm, they were particularly beautiful and voluptuous, exactly right for a woman in her late thirties who’d already had two children. Cupping them appreciatively in his hands, he rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, already erect and almost painfully sensitive in anticipation of his touch.

“Mmm…” she moaned, moving back to press herself to him, her buttocks nestling against his erection. He laughed softly, pinching her nipples and hearing her breath quicken again.

“Malfoy,” she breathed now. “Let me see you. Please. I need to see your face.”

At last, he relented, and she turned in his arms, just in time for him to capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. When at last they broke apart for air, she looked into his grey eyes, dark with desire for her now and mirroring her own for him.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said softly, her hands resting on the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. Then she stepped back. “You’ve had your fun, or some of it anyway. Now it’s my turn.”

Fully expecting she would undress him as he had her, he grinned and waited. But instead, she stretched out, sinuous as a cat, on the king-sized bed and smiled. “Take your clothes off. One piece at a time. Slowly. And then lie here next to me and pleasure yourself. I want to watch.”

Draco raised an amused and admittedly surprised eyebrow. “Bossy, still, aren’t you. Kinky too,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. All right, then.” 

His expression turned positively wicked as very slowly, he slipped off his shoes and socks, loosened his tie, letting it slide to the floor, and began to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. Before long, his shirt, trousers, and belt were on the floor as well. Hermione gazed appreciatively at his bare chest and arms, nicely muscled but lean and compact. In fact, all of him was quite nicely put together.

“Ah ah,” she said in mock reproach, waving a hand in the direction of his underwear. “The lot.”

Shrugging, he grinned and let his boxers drop to the floor. His erection was rock hard now and in urgent need of some attention, and he stretched out beside Hermione and grasped his cock, all the while never breaking eye contact with her. 

Moving his hand up and down, slowly at first and then faster as he came closer to climaxing, he could not contain small sounds of pleasure that grew louder and more insistent, becoming groans. Watching him, Hermione’s hand strayed down between her own legs, and she began to stroke herself, moving in tandem to the rhythm he had set. And then, just when he was sure he was about to go over the edge, his eyes squeezed shut in an agony of pleasure, he felt her hand brush his aside and the next thing he knew, she had mounted him, positioning herself so that his swollen cock slid into her with ease. Rising up and then grinding down hard on him, she set a rhythm that intensified for both of them with each stroke.

At the last moment, he could hold it no longer, his orgasm exploding and sending him rocketing over the edge. Hers came right on its heels. Screaming her climax, she collapsed on his chest, breathing hard. A few moments of recovery later, she raised her head and he leant in to kiss her.

“I hope these walls are soundproofed,” he joked, between kisses. “That was quite a scream. Bloodcurdling, I’d say.”

“Oh no!” Hermione was horrified. “Really?”

He nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah. Positively primal.” His mock gravity dissolved into an easy grin. “Tell you what. Let’s have some of that leftover mousse and champagne. I am feeling rather parched and in need of sustenance.”

“Good idea,” she agreed. “Stay there. I’ll fetch it.”

Bringing back the bottle, two champagne flutes, the bowl of chocolate mousse and a spoon, she settled herself on the bed beside him and filled the glasses, handing him one.

“Happy New Year, Hermione,” he said softly, clinking glasses and leaning in to kiss her. 

“Happy New Year, Draco.”

What they later did with both the mousse and the champagne would win prizes for creativity, if such a contest were to be held. The night was long, the bed exceedingly comfortable, and they became acquainted again and again as the first day of the new year turned from darkness to first light.  
  
  
  
  


TBC

  
  
  
A now, a few photos from their New Year's Eve celebration:  
  
  


Covent Garden

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50818206808/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Covent Garden, Neal’s Yard

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50819045872/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Eve at The Frog, Covent Garden

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816129042/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
New Year’s Eve fireworks as seen from the London Eye, courtesy of Sky News

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816042026/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Fireworks over the Thames

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50818141078/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Vintry & Mercer marquee

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816137162/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Vintry & Mercer Rooftop Terrace

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816031946/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
  
  
Vintry & Mercer Rooftop Igloo

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816137707/in/dateposted-public/)


	7. January to March 2017

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814888162/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
  
New Year’s Day  
  
  
The sun had already been up for several hours before either of them stirred. Entangled in the snow-white sheets, their limbs had become entwined in a haze of inebriation when sleep finally took them over.

Hermione awoke first. Bright sunlight streamed in through the large, sliding-glass doors. They’d neglected to draw the room-darkening drapes, instead succumbing to deep, overwhelming sleep. Rubbing her eyes blearily, she raised her head and winced. This wasn’t a very good idea after all. The room had begun a slow spin and there was a dull ache starting to pound behind her eyes. 

Flopping back amongst the many pillows, she closed her eyes again, thinking about all that had taken place in the twelve hours since they’d arrived in the room shortly before midnight. There had been the hottest sex she’d ever had in her life, for starters. Draco undressing her that way, oh so slowly and with meticulous attention to the smallest details, was an experience unlike anything she’d ever known before. He’d given loving, rapturous attention to every inch of her, but he had also not hidden how excited he’d been by the very touch, taste, and scent of her. She could smell his arousal, feel it in the way he touched and kissed her, hear it in the low growl of desire in his voice. It was… magnetic. Compelling. _Primal._ And yet, for all that, she knew that he’d been utterly in control of himself the entire time. It had been a slow, very deliberate, powerful first coupling. He had been masterful. And there had been several others following that one, each time inventive and yet always characterised by the feeling of being cherished. He’d done that for her, putting her first all night, even when she tried to do the same for him. This was something utterly new and quite remarkable in Hermione’s experience, and she found herself replaying each moment again and again as she recalled them.

There was something else as well, something he’d said late into the night just after the last time they’d made love. He’d whispered the words, probably thinking she was asleep. But she hadn’t been. She’d heard him quite distinctly, and the words he’d whispered had shot straight to her core. There hadn’t been any sleep for her after that, not for some time.

“I love you.” 

He’d actually said it. She hadn’t imagined it. What he’d said was real, and it touched a place very deep inside her that she’d protected judiciously for years, ever since she’d first realised that her marriage had failed, that Ron had betrayed her with all those lies. Her heart had closed up then and there, and she’d built an impenetrable wall around it. Or so she had thought. 

Somehow, Draco Malfoy – obnoxious, snide, nasty, manipulative, narrow-minded, cowardly, and insulting, the very worst sort of bully when they’d been at school together – had found a way in. Except of course, he was none of those things anymore and hadn’t been for many years, although he still had issues. She’d fallen in love with the man he had become, flaws and all.

When had she first realised that she loved him too? Snuggling deeper into the bedclothes, she tried to remember. It was hard to single out one specific time or incident. It had really been a gradual thing, sneaking up on her over the months, starting a year ago; possibly, though, it had really begun when she’d seen her children falling for him and he for them. And then, there were the revelations, the darkest, most painful secrets he’d eventually trusted her with over time. She had watched the pain and darkness edge closer and closer to the surface, a process that couldn’t have been easy or natural for someone who’d been raised never to show weakness, vulnerability, or dependency. The weekend he’d stayed at her house in London, those feelings had seemed to crystallise. She’d seen him vulnerable, much as he’d hated that fact. And she’d also seen the beginnings of real trust on his part, which could not have been easy. Over time, she’d seen a man finally beginning to grapple with demons that had haunted him for twenty years, ever since the war, and face some hard truths. That, she decided now, was probably what had really turned the corner for her: his newfound bravery. 

Of course, it didn’t hurt that she’d always found him tremendously attractive physically. When they were at school, she’d sometimes secretly fantasised about him, like a lot of the girls did, but she’d always imagined that handsome face and physique with an entirely different personality, a much nicer one inspired by her. The whole thing had been ridiculously unrealistic, of course. She’d never taken it the least bit seriously. And then Ron had loomed larger in the picture, and that had essentially been that. Until it no longer was.

When she’d arrived back at Hogwarts to begin teaching there, she’d been surprised to find him on staff, teaching potions. Even more handsome now that he was a fully mature man, he caught her eye even as he began by being as obnoxious to her as he’d ever been. But somehow she’d suspected that it was more a matter of old habit than anything else. His heart hadn’t seemed to be truly in it. In fact, she recalled, thinking back to the first night they’d spotted each other at the welcoming feast, he’d been checking her out before he’d realised who she actually was. And after that, even as he was customarily rude to her, the sharp edge was simply not there. 

That was a full year ago. Hard to believe. Hermione sighed, turning to lie on her side, facing him. He lay buried in the bedclothes, only his face, neck, and bare shoulders visible. His expression was utterly peaceful and relaxed. He slept soundly and apparently without dreams, itself remarkable. She thought again about the night he’d spent at her house, when he’d awakened screaming from one of his dreadful nightmares. Today, on this first day of the new year, he seemed quite another person.

She lay there watching him for some time; eventually, his eyes slowly opened and he gave her a lazy smile.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, stretching luxuriantly and then fondly tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“Oh, not very long, really,” she replied, reaching to cup his cheek in her hand. Turning his head, he planted a kiss on her palm and then closed his hand around hers.

“Last night was bloody amazing,” he sighed happily. 

“ _You_ were bloody amazing!” she exclaimed. “That was one of the best nights of my entire life – maybe THE best night, after the births of my kids! I mean it!”

Chuckling, he lay back on the pillows, opening his arms to gather her in. “I’m really glad I could make it special for you, Hermione. I’ve been dreaming about this for ages, you know.”

Hermione raised her head, looking at him sharply. “What do you mean? Literally?”

He nodded. “Have a look at my journal sometime, the one I keep for my sessions with the healer. A lot of my dreams are in there, including some of the ones I’ve had about us. About you.”

She considered this for a minute, and now her cheeks were flaming. “Well, I hope last night lived up to all that, at least!”

“Oh, no worries there, love. Last night exceeded my dreams by a mile.” He laughed out loud then, gathering her very close once again. “Waking up with you, Granger, is the second best bit. I’ve often thought about how nice that would be. And I’ve wondered, brushing my teeth or shaving or making Scorpius breakfast, just what you were doing at that same moment.”

“The same things. Well,” she giggled, “not the bit about shaving. But all the rest… mornings are pretty hectic with two kids to get ready for the day AND getting myself ready as well.”

Draco nodded. At this stage of their lives, they had far more in common, day to day, than he ever could have envisioned in the past, had such a comparison ever come up. If he’d stayed in the life he’d tried to live for his parents’ sake, it never would have.

Snuggled together comfortably beneath the sheets and quilt, they lay quietly, not speaking at all for a couple of minutes. At last, Hermione summoned the nerve to ask the question she’d been thinking about ever since she’d awakened.

“Did you mean it? What you said last night?”

He yawned widely and then sighed, drawing her closer still. “I’m sure I said a lot of things last night. What are you talking about specifically?”

“You said… you said that you…” Suddenly, the words had got gummed up in her throat, unwilling to come out. She took a fortifying breath and pushed on, her voice now very low. “Love me.”

There was a surprised silence for a long moment. He grew very still. “I thought you hadn’t heard me.” And then he laughed softly. “Apparently, you did. Well, I reckon you might as well hear it from me stone cold sober and in the light of day. New Year’s Day.” Sitting both of them up and taking her hands in his, he looked her in the eye. He wasn’t smiling now. “I meant every word,” he told her softly. “I am in love with you, Hermione Granger. I have been for some time.”

“You never said! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she gasped. “I’d have… well… I’d have…”

Now Draco was grinning very broadly. He had been hoping for a positive answer to a question _he’d_ been longing to ask, and now, something told him he’d just got it. 

“Tsk, Granger. Surely a woman as intellectually gifted as you are is capable of using language far more effectively than that. Just what is it you’re trying to say, darling?”

 _Go for broke, Hermione!_ Screwing up her courage, she took a breath, her words spilling out in a rush. “I love you too! I have for ages!”

At this, he grabbed her in a single, fluid motion and drew her very close, the fingers of one hand splayed on her back and the other hand buried in her hair. There were no words now, only a wave of relief, joy, and excitement, and the feeling that at this moment, all was completely right with the entire universe. Holding her was enough in that moment. It was everything.

Eventually, they pulled apart and gazed at each other full on. Then he bent his head and kissed her. It was a kiss that held in it all the longing and hopes, all the dreams for his future life, everything that had been left unexpressed save in his journal, where he’d felt safe. Now… now the sky had broken open after the rain, the grey clouds had parted, and a beam of purest golden light had streamed through, undaunted and powerfully illuminating. His heart felt truly free for the very first time.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
1 February 2017  
Wednesday afternoon  
  
  
“Well, Mr. Malfoy. You’re looking rather pleased with yourself, I must say.” Healer Grey sat back in her desk chair, surveying Draco with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. “As you know, I’ve been away the last several weeks and I’ve been unable to see any clients. Catch me up, please. What’s happened?”

For the first time since he’d begun therapy sessions with Healer Grey, Draco sat, notably relaxed and comfortable, in the leather chair opposite the healer. “Well,” he began, “things have progressed with Hermione Granger.”

Winifred Grey sat up a little straighter, leaning forward with keen interest. “Oh? And how do you mean ‘progressed,’ exactly?”

He flushed faintly, his smile a bit self-conscious. “We’ve, uh… well, we’ve taken things to the next level. Physically.”

“You’ve had sex,” the healer affirmed briskly, jotting something down in the notebook she kept for his sessions. “Good. Or at least, I hope it was a positive experience?”

He nodded. “It was spectacular, actually. And… well… I told her how I feel about her.”

“Finally!” Healer Grey broke out into a broad smile. “Excellent! It’s about time. And how are things between the two of you now? Did she reciprocate your feelings?”

“Yes! She actually did. I couldn’t believe it!” An expression of lingering wonderment crossed Draco’s face for a moment.

“Are you feeling deserving of her now?”

Tough question, but he’d anticipated it. “More than I used to, at least. It’s strange. I know she loves me, which is incredible enough. But she really seems to like me as well, and I’m still finding that difficult to credit.”

Healer Grey tapped the tip of her quill against her lip, gazing at him thoughtfully. “Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I should think it would be, especially to you! Because of the little shit I was to her for so many years when we were kids. I’ve told you already. She was clearly the brightest one in our year. A real Miss Clever Clogs too, or so it seemed to me, which made it all the worse. I couldn’t stand her because I was jealous of her brilliance and because she was everything I’d been taught to despise. And that brilliance made no sense to me. How could somebody who was Muggleborn be such a talented witch? Such a thing was utterly incomprehensible.

“Look,” he continued, “I won’t lie. I was a nasty piece of work to a lot of people at school. But I treated her the worst by far – like she was a disease, something disgusting that had got stuck to the bottom of my shoe. So to realise that she could look past all that, be so generous, give me a chance to make it up to her all these years later… well, sometimes I still find it remarkable and completely inexplicable.”

The healer nodded, looking pensive. “Obviously,” she mused, “Ms. Granger is capable of tremendous forgiveness. She must be a very mature young woman who is able to recognise genuine change, maturation, and redemption when they are right in front of her eyes.”

“Is that how you believe she sees me? Honestly?” Draco couldn’t help his surprise, even as he knew what Healer Grey had said was the truth. He’d known it in his bones for quite some time.

“Indeed. I think her actions have made it quite plain. If she loves you as you say she does, and I have no reason to think otherwise, then clearly she sees the whole picture and is willing to put the past behind her. She remembers it, no doubt. But her heart is bigger than childhood hurts and anger. She sees the man you are now. That’s the man she is in love with. _Be_ that man for her and for your son, but even more crucially, for yourself, Draco.”

Winifred Grey paused, regarding him with a clear-eyed, steady gaze. When he nodded silently, looking noticeably relieved, she continued. “Are you having a lot of dreams these days? Both the positive and the negative sort.”

“Actually, not so much, since New Year’s. Or, well, yeah…” He flushed, grinning. “I’ve had some really good ones. Only a few nightmares. And mostly, they’re not as bad as they used to be. I’m still seeing Hermione in them and her presence seems to take the edge off, somehow. It’s as if I know she’s with me and I feel stronger.”

“I see,” the healer remarked, jotting down something in the notebook. “You are still using the potion, I take it?”

“Yeah, mostly. The really bad nightmares have always happened on the nights I’ve forgotten to take it. The other nights, when I've remembered, the dreams are not as bad. Hermione has shown up in most of those.”

“Interesting,” Healer Grey murmured, making another notation. “Have you shared the significance of these dreams with her? Does she know she plays an integral part in the way your subconscious mind is perceiving and processing what you fear?” 

“I haven’t, not yet. I assume you think I should.”

The healer laid down her quill and regarded Draco frankly. “I absolutely think you should. She needs to know.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Look,” he said abruptly, “I do _not_ want her to feel that I’m emotionally dependent on her for my well-being! It sounds like she’s a crutch. Like I can’t heal without her. Like I’m an emotional cripple! Fuck that!”

Winifred Grey sighed deeply, laying down her quill and folding her hands on the desk. “But in a sense, Draco, you _are_ dependent on her for your well-being, at least for now. Are you so afraid that if she knew that, she would leave you?”

Draco shook his head, his mouth a stubbornly thin, angry line. “I do NOT want her to feel like I’m dependent on her,” he repeated, “no matter what. She needs me to be strong, reliable. She needs to know that I will always be there for her, no matter what. If she thinks I’m just one nightmare away from being a basket case again, she’ll walk away!”

“Did she walk away months ago, when she learned how troubled you were?” the healer reminded him gently. “No. She stuck by you and began doing whatever she could to help, starting with reuniting you with your son. She’s been there for you through everything in the last year. In a sense, you’re here because of her. Have you forgotten that?”

All this was certainly true. Draco remained doggedly silent as he considered what the healer had said.

“Draco,” she continued, “you will certainly heal over time, with or without Hermione. Understand that. But her part in your life is an additional layer of good health, hope, and most importantly, love. _Everyone_ needs those things in their lives, in order to be truly happy. Yes, you can heal on your own, and you will. I know you are more than sufficiently motivated for your own sake and for that of your son. But must you be stoic when it comes to the role of a partner in your life? Must you always be so strong, able to forego emotional needs that are healthy and to be encouraged in _all_ human beings?”

“My father…” he began, uncertainly. “He…”

“Was a role model that perhaps you would be better off disregarding, if my impressions are correct. Was this sort of stoicism what you observed, growing up? Was your parents’ marriage a healthy partnership?” Healer Grey sat back once again, awaiting a reply. “Be honest.”

“It wasn’t,” Draco said at last, following a long silence. “Not really, not in the sense that you mean. Their marriage was autocratic, my father setting the rules. My mother had been raised within that sort of structure as well, so she viewed it as a _fait accompli_ that she would accede to his will most of the time. I know she wasn’t terribly happy. She loved my father, I believe, but she often didn’t like him very much. 

“I tried very hard not to see all that. I reckon I did a pretty good job of blocking it out, too, especially once I’d gone away to school and didn’t have to see and hear it. And in any case, that was what all my friends’ parents’ marriages were like. It was expected in higher Pureblood circles. My own marriage would have appeared pretty much like that as well, had it lasted. I suppose,” he concluded with a wry grin, “I should thank Astoria for being such a nasty bitch. She ‘let’ me have my way with surface stuff, but she was hardly the meek and docile type. A real ballbuster. Sorry!”

Winifred Grey laughed out loud then, shaking her head in amusement. “No apologies necessary. I had that impression already. We are always honest here. I’m not concerned with niceties. Anyway,” she went on, “the issue at hand is whether you are still so attached to the notion of strength without any need for a life partner’s emotional support.”

“Maybe I can allow that once I'm actually healed.” 

The healer shook her head decisively. “Sorry. It doesn’t work that way. You’ve already let Hermione into your heart to a certain degree. You need to let her in all the way, so that she understands one thing above all: _not_ that you’re pathetically needy and emotionally impotent without her, but that you _love_ her. Deeply. _That_ is at the root of the need. That is at the root of _all_ human need. They go hand in glove. If not for your great love for her, she wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – have such a potent role in your dreams. Once you have come to terms with that, then you may tell her about the dreams. Share them. That is your homework assignment, Draco Malfoy. I’ll see you again next week. Here.” She smiled, reaching for a bunch of the small, milk-white flowers in the vase on her desk. “Snowdrops. Take some to your lady in honour of Imbolc. Spring is coming!”

Imbolc, “in milk” – the time on the Wheel of the Year that marked the ewes coming into their milk to feed their newborn lambs, a sure harbinger of spring. He’d forgotten completely that it was today. 

Grinning, he accepted the flowers and stepped into Healer Grey’s fireplace, Floo powder in his other hand. They would still be fresh and lovely when he arrived back at Hogwarts. Like Hermione.  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	8. April to June 2017, Part One

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50804099168/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
  
15 April  
Saturday  
  
  
  
The rain pelted down in buckets, splashing against the mullioned windowpanes and creating small lakes all over the grounds. It was a cold, inhospitable rain, not the sort one would choose to walk about in if there were a choice. Spring had officially arrived with the Equinox nearly four weeks earlier, but the weather lately had put the lie to that fact.

Inside their cosy quarters, Draco and Scorpius were deep in a fierce, take-no-prisoners game of checkers. 

“Right,” Draco murmured, studying the board intently. After a moment’s thought, he slid one of his red pieces forward, neatly jumping three of his son’s black ones. “King me!”

“Dad!” Scorpius wailed in frustration. “That’s not fair!”

“It is entirely fair, Scorpius.” Draco chuckled, sitting back and folding his arms. “You left yourself wide open. You’ve got to learn to think ahead a bit, try to anticipate what your opponent will do next. If you really want to learn wizard’s chess, you’ll need to master checkers first.”

Interesting and noteworthy that his offspring apparently lacked the innate killer instinct that marked so many Slytherins, Draco reflected. It would be another four and a half months before his official start at Hogwarts as a first-year. Would he even be Sorted into the house in which every Malfoy in living memory had been placed, or would he be the first to break the mould? If he did get Sorted into Slytherin, it would be for other than the most obvious reasons, and perhaps he would bring those other traits to that ancient house. 

“Okay,” Scorpius muttered glumly. “I reckon you’re right. Can we have lunch now?”

“ _Please_ ,” his father corrected, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“ _Please_ can we have lunch now?”

“Of course,” Draco told him, rising from the table and heading off into the small kitchenette. “Soup and a sandwich okay? Or shall I Summon a house-elf for something a bit more grand? How hungry are you, anyway?”

“Starving!” Scorpius sighed dramatically, holding his stomach. Eagerly, he trailed after his father into the kitchenette. “Can we have both, then? Please?”

Laughing, Draco shook his head. The kid was a bottomless pit, and yet he never gained weight. He'd inherited his father's lean build and very pale hair, yet in other ways, they were very different individuals. These differences were an endless source of fascination for Draco as he watched his son grow.

Shortly afterwards, they sat at the table again, over bowls of tomato soup, chicken sandwiches, and savoury Cornish pasties, steaming and fragrant.

For several minutes, neither spoke, instead focusing entirely on the delicious meal. Eventually, though, Draco turned to his son, who was still wolfing down one of the tender, flaky pasties.

“Do you miss having a brother or sister, Scorp? I mean, would you want one if, say, you could have one?”

The question had clearly taken the boy by surprise. “Why?” he asked eagerly. “Am I about to get one?”

“Calm down. I was just wondering hypothetically how you’d feel. You know, if you’ve missed having a sibling, that’s all. Because… well… I know that I felt that way, growing up. I was on my own a lot as a little kid. It was sort of lonely sometimes.” Draco sighed, remembering. “And then, of course, I came here to start school and I did make some friends.”

_If you could call those relationships genuine friendships, that is. More like me being a ringleader and the others doing what I said, just to curry favour. I don’t want that for Scorpius!_

He sliced off another bite of the Cornish pasty. “And… you’ll be starting as a first year in just a few months’ time. You’ve met all the teachers. Which ones do you think you’ll most enjoy taking classes with?”

That question was apparently a no-brainer for Scorpius. “Professor Granger,” he piped up without hesitation. “She’s really cool. And then… Professor McGonagall. I like her. She’s nice. Hagrid too. And Firenze.”

“What about your old dad, then?” Draco teased, giving Scorpius a playful poke in the arm. “Don’t I rate?”

“Oh yeah, ‘course! Sorry. You’re first. You have the coolest classroom, next to Professor Granger’s. All that gross stuff you’ve got in jars…”

“But… you really like Professor Granger, yeah? She likes you very much as well, you know. She’s often told me so.” Draco tried to keep his tone casual and matter-of-fact. 

“She’s great. Can I take Muggle Studies first year?”

Draco shook his head. ‘Sorry, no, that’s an elective for students in their third year and up. But of course, you already get to spend lots of time with her outside the classroom, when you’re with Rose and Hugo.”

Scorpius considered that for a moment. “Yeah. It’s funny, I really only know her as my friends’ mum. It’ll be so weird having her as a teacher. Even more weird, having _you_ as a teacher!”

“I reckon that’ll be true for me as well, come to think of it,” Draco laughed and then pulled a mock-stern face. “No special treatment for you, I’m telling you right now. And no special treatment from Professor Granger either, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, well, she really likes me. I can tell.” Scorpius looked positively smug at that moment. “She’s almost like… like…”

“A second mother?” 

Scorpius nodded. “Mmm. Dad,” he said suddenly, and it was clear that he was already on to the next subject of conversation. “Can I have some milk? And a biscuit?”

“ _May_ I have some milk, _please_?” Draco corrected automatically, his thoughts elsewhere. What his son had said about Granger was still resonating, and suddenly, he felt genuinely encouraged. There was something he’d need to discuss with Scorpius in the next number of weeks, a subject that would require full disclosure. He’d need his son’s blessing as well. He hadn’t yet brought it up to Granger – that would come first, of course – but he felt relatively sure there would be no surprises from that quarter. It was really a matter of all three children being okay with what he (and hopefully, she) had in mind.

‘Patience,’ he counseled himself, his heart almost unbearably light as he poured a glass of milk and assembled some chocolate digestive biscuits on a plate. ‘All in good time.’  
  
  


*

  
  
  
26 April  
Wednesday afternoon  
  
  
“Is there a particular reason you wanted me to come with you today?” Hermione gave Draco a quizzical, sidelong glance as they stepped into his fireplace.

He nodded, taking her hand. “There is, but I’d rather wait till we got there to explain. I think Healer Grey would probably prefer that as well.”

“Oh! Did she specifically ask you to bring me, then?”

“Not in so many words, but I think she’ll be pleased that I did. There’s something she feels I should tell you. And I think she was hoping to meet you at some point in any case.”

“Why is that?” Hermione looked genuinely intrigued now. “”Am I a subject of discussion in your sessions?”

“Oh, constantly,” Draco assured her, straight-faced, and then held up a hand as she opened her mouth to question him further. “Ah ah! Patience, love!”

Patience. It was a warning he’d been giving himself quite a lot lately, it seemed, whenever he thought about the possibility of the thing he’d been dearly wishing for coming to fruition. Just now, however, there was something else occupying his thoughts to the exclusion of everything else, even his hopes for the future, which in fact might well ride on what happened in the session today. There was a clenching sensation in the pit of his stomach, which he tried very hard to ignore.

Moments later, they stood in the anteroom of Healer Grey’s office at St. Mungo’s. The receptionist smiled pleasantly and waved them into the inner office.

Healer Grey gestured towards a pair of leather chairs facing her desk. “Good afternoon, Draco. Good afternoon, Ms. Granger. Thank you for coming.” She held out a welcoming hand to Hermione, who accepted the warm handshake she offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“It’s Hermione, please,” the younger witch replied quickly. “It’s lovely to meet you too, though I must admit, I was surprised when Draco asked me to come along today.”

The healer smiled enigmatically, sitting back in the comfortable leather chair and touching the tips of her fingers together. “As I’m sure you must know by now, Draco has made significant progress over the past eight months. Nearly nine months now, actually. Has he told you much about our sessions?”

“A bit. I know that he keeps a dream journal and that you’ve put him on a regimen of meditation and relaxation exercises and a nightly potion, which has really helped. I also know he’s told you what happened to him twenty years ago at Hogwarts. And that he’s talked to you quite a lot about his family. Is… is that it?”

Healer Grey nodded, absently tapping the tips of her fingers together. “Essentially, yes. It is. The two of you have become quite close over the past nine months. Isn’t that right?”

A faint, pink flush tinged Hermione’s cheeks and she smiled. “Yes. That’s true.”

“As that is the case, I believe it is important that you understand your part in his journey towards genuine healing. Are you aware of the nature of his dreams?”

Hermione coloured again, glancing over at Draco. He gave her the smallest wink, a ghost of an encouraging smile on his lips. He was feeling fairly uneasy by now, but he didn’t want to communicate that to her.

“Yes… some of them, anyway. I really don’t know the details of most of them, though,” she replied.

“In that case, Draco,” Winifred Grey remarked briskly, turning to regard him, “why don’t you talk a bit about your nightmares?”

He nodded. This was it. “They’re always about the same thing, really,” he began. “Fragments of the horrific stuff I was forced to witness and participate in when I was sixteen and seventeen. Bits of scenes from when Voldemort occupied my parents’ house. Memories of his reign of terror, which, as of course you know, Healer Grey, was directed towards wizards and witches who didn’t support him and also towards all Muggles everywhere.”

Winifred Grey nodded but remained silent. She gestured wordlessly for him to continue.

“In my nightmares, I’m living it all over again, watching victims being tortured, hearing them scream and beg for mercy. But there was never any mercy. Watching them terrorised just for Voldemort’s pleasure at causing pain and anguish, the sick bastard. Innocent people disemboweled, beheaded, and racked. Oh yes, Voldemort resurrected the rack, that tidy invention of the Middle Ages used against suspected witches and wizards. He’d laugh and say something about turnabout being fair play, but he used it on everyone, the wizarding community and Muggles alike, to force confessions or for extracting other information. Total hypocrite! Watching children being beaten, burnt, hanged, and then literally consumed by werewolves like…”

“Fenrir Greyback,” Hermione murmured, blanching as she remembered her own seventh-year encounters with the notoriously vicious werewolf when she, Harry, and Ron had been on the run and searching for horcruxes. She shuddered as she remembered how close she had come to being one of his victims.

“On any given night, there will be a piece of a memory,” Draco went on, seeming to gain in strength as he spoke. “Something I’ve tried very hard, over the years, to forget. It will be something particularly frightening, an act of cruelty beyond imagining, that I’d been a part of against my will. At the time, the horror was all around me every waking hour, and the only way I could cope at all was to block it out and turn myself numb to all of it. Just switch myself off. But of course, I couldn’t remove the experience from my brain and my memory, only avoid facing it. I should have known that eventually, it would all catch up with me and then I would not be able to stop remembering. Those are the nightmares. That’s what I live at night when I fall asleep.”

Draco sat back, obviously drained and looking exhausted. Hermione reached for his hand, only to find that it was cold. 

“You’ve told me, Draco, that Hermione has played a part in some of those truly terrible dreams you’ve had. Can you describe exactly how she fits into the picture?” the healer asked gently.

Hermione had gone very pale. She regarded him, her large, dark eyes wide with both curiosity and obvious empathy. She’d known he’d had a very bad time of it during the war, but she’d never known the details to this degree.

“Well, in the worst dreams, she will often appear. I’ll see her face and hear her voice. She’ll tell me it’s going to be all right, if I can just hang on a bit longer. And I’ll feel stronger, as if I can actually survive the terror and the loneliness, the self-loathing. And then I’ll wake up. But she only shows up in my nightmares if I’ve taken the potion before falling asleep. If I’ve forgotten, any nightmare I have that night will be really bad. Anyway, yeah… she’s really like a symbol of… of…”

“Hope?” the healer asked quietly. 

“Yes, and strength.” Draco gave Hermione’s hand a quick squeeze. It remained cradled in his, warm and reassuring. She hadn’t tried to withdraw it in revulsion at what he’d described so graphically. Instead, she’d held it even more firmly. Her face was fairly bloodless though; she sat very still, looking almost as if she’d stopped breathing. 

This was the moment he’d dreaded most: her reaction to what he’d divulged and how that would manifest itself. Would she remain apparently supportive here in Healer Grey’s office and then gradually distance herself from him once they’d returned to Hogwarts? Would she feel that he was just too fucked up to imagine a future with? That he’d experienced far too much for any one person, much less a kid, to endure and recover from in any meaningful way? Would his need for her seem oppressive now, more like chains than the healthy ties that bind?

Feeling a bit sick to his stomach, he hazarded another glance in her direction and then one at the healer. Winifred Grey had just finished scratching out some additional notes in the book she kept for his sessions. Now she laid the quill down and folded her hands.

“Thank you, Draco,” she told him. “I’m certain that could not have been easy. The pain you experienced was bound to come back and haunt you; you were quite right about that. The human mind is like a sponge, particularly when one is very young and impressionable. It also has ways of protecting itself when necessary, shielding itself against the worst, most painful memories and experiences. But as you know, such memories find ways of seeping into our lives even years later, if we don’t confront them and find ways to banish them for good. 

“Hermione,” she continued, turning to gaze at the younger woman, “do you understand that your role in Draco’s life and in his healing process has become essential?”

Hermione nodded gravely. She’d intuited it before now, but hearing it put into words and spoken aloud was a sobering experience.

“And do you also understand the reason you, of all people, have assumed such an integral role in this journey he’s undertaken? Why he so closely associates you with his own sense of well-being?”

She considered the question for a moment and then nodded again. “It’s because… it’s because I love him. And I do, Malfoy!” she said with some urgency now, fixing him with an intense gaze and squeezing his hand. Suddenly, in that moment, it had become crucial that he should believe her. “I really do.”

For Draco, it was as if a tremendous weight had suddenly rolled off his shoulders. He felt as if he’d shed an extra skin, as if he’d left a ponderous outer body fraught with pounds of worry behind. The most he could manage, however, was a grin that embodied about a hundred years of relief and an equal amount of happiness.

“You know,” the healer continued, smiling now, “there is a famous Muggle film that I had the good fortune to see some years ago. I’m sure you know it well, Hermione, as you are Muggleborn. It’s called ‘The Wizard of Oz.’”

Hermione nodded that indeed, she did. It had been one of her favourites as a young child.

“In the film,” Healer Grey went on, “there are four main characters on a journey. They encounter a wizard, a witch who does much good, and one who is very dark indeed. A lot happens on the journey, but they triumph in the end. The wizard gives a piece of advice to the tin man, who longs for a heart. The wizard says, ‘A heart is judged not by who you love, but by how much you are loved by others.’ Draco, I believe you have your answer in the heart of this special young woman, who clearly loves you very much. Consider just how much as a measure of your own worth, and never doubt it. It’s quite real. Hermione, my dear, thank you for coming today. I know this wasn’t easy for you either, but it was important that you hear and understand all of it, both as a part of who this man is, and also the reason you are so much more essential to him than perhaps you knew.”

“I knew,” Hermione whispered. “I sensed it. But isn’t that what love is, anyway? I never questioned it. I just thought that he would tell me everything when he was ready.”

“And so he has done.” Healer Grey beamed at both of them. “Now, then, Draco. I suggest that you take your lady out for a good meal. And I will see you in two weeks. Cheers!”

As they headed towards the fireplace to take their leave, Draco caught Hermione’s eye with a grin suggestive of sudden inspiration. “The Rooftop Terrace at Vintry and Mercer?”

Now that was an offer no sane woman could refuse.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  
“It’s three days until Beltane, you know,” Hermione remarked offhandedly, pouring tea into her oversized mug. She and Draco were in the staff room during a break between lessons two days after the session with Healer Grey.

“Oh yes?” Preoccupied with sorting some students’ homework parchments, Draco was only half listening. “And?”

“Well,” she began, with a deep breath. “I thought… well, you know, Beltane is when lots of people…” Then she shook her head, blushing. “Never mind, Malfoy. No worries. Skip it.”

And that is precisely what Draco did, for the remainder of that Friday. Blithely sailing through his classes, Hermione’s words utterly absent from his thoughts, he had a very good day. He was reflecting on this with no small degree of satisfaction, sinking into the comfort of his armchair by the fire that evening, when Hermione’s aborted attempt to tell him something came to mind. 

“Why bring up Beltane? What’s…?” he muttered, prodding at the logs with the brass poker. And then it hit him: Beltane. Fire festival. Celebration of springtime, fertility, and renewal. Traditionally, a time when couples pledged themselves to each other. Engagements and handfastings. Jumping the fire and then running joyfully off into the woods to consummate their promises.

Draco felt a hot flush suffuse his face above the collar. What an utter fuckwit he’d been! She’d been hinting at celebrating the day in the most meaningful and appropriate way, and he’d been totally oblivious. Suddenly, he couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful or more absolutely right. 

Half tempted to jump out of his chair and charge over to Hermione’s rooms, he checked himself. This should be done right. There was something he needed and he knew precisely where to find it.

His owl was winging swiftly to the Manor within half an hour, the all-important missive strapped to his leg. He would travel there himself the following day, bringing Scorpius along to see his grandparents.

So it was that on that Saturday afternoon, Draco and his son stepped out of the hearth in the massive foyer of Malfoy Manor, dusting themselves down.

“Draco! And Scorpius!” Narcissa hurried to her son and grandson, a wide, welcoming smile lighting up her lovely face. “It’s wonderful to see you both! I’ve missed you!”

She clasped their hands in hers and gave both of them a warm hug. “Come into the drawing room and make yourselves comfortable! I’ll ring for some refreshments, shall I?”

Before Draco could stop her, she’d summoned one of the house-elves. “Tibby, please bring a pot of tea and some of those delightful biscuits that Master Scorpius likes so much. Oh, and some finger sandwiches. Now then,” she sighed, beaming at the two of them. “Tell me, how is everything? Scorpius, how are your lessons? Do you like your tutor?”

Studiously, she avoided looking Draco directly in the eye, and he knew she was trying very hard not to raise any suspicions in Scorpius.

Apparently, she succeeded, for Scorpius answered all her questions guilelessly and with great enthusiasm. When their lunch arrived on a silver tea tray, he ate ravenously, still talking about Hogwarts and his friends Rosie and Hugo, their mum, their lessons, and their adventures around the castle. Draco took the opportunity to slip out of the room and up the massive staircase to his old bedroom. There, waiting for him on the chest of drawers, was a small box meant for a piece of jewelry. His heart took a leap as he picked it up carefully and opened it. 

Inside, there was a ring quite unlike any other. It had belonged to all the Malfoy women in a direct line of descent for generations. Now it was Narcissa’s turn to pass it down to the woman her son had chosen for his life partner. Made of a highly burnished platinum, it had delicate filigree work encrusted with clusters of tiny, flawless diamonds. 

It was quite perfect in every detail. Hermione would love it.

Slipping the box into his jacket pocket, he returned downstairs to rejoin his mother and Scorpius, who were just finishing the light repast. His father had joined them as well and now he looked up as Draco entered the room.

“How are you, Draco?” the elder Malfoy asked coolly. “I understand you’ve –”

“ _Lucius_ ,” Narcissa cut in, shooting a warning glance at her husband. “Why don’t you take Scorpius to your study and show him some of those very old maps of the Manor you’ve just acquired?”

Comprehension flashed in Lucius’ eyes and he nodded. “Come, Scorpius. I think you will enjoy seeing these old maps.”

“How old are they, Grandpere?” Scorpius asked excitedly as they walked off together. “About a thousand years?”

Lucius’ answering chuckle floated back to Draco and Narcissa as the door shut behind them. 

“You’ve got the ring, I gather,” she observed. “Good. I wore it and loved it for many years. But of course, following family tradition, it was always meant to belong to your wife-to-be someday, whomever she turned out to be. I’m very glad, now, that Astoria refused it in favour of something flashier. That should have been a warning sign to all of us, then and there. Do you think Hermione will like it?”

A slow smile lit Draco’s eyes. “Yes,” he replied, and now his smile lit the whole room. “I’m sure of it. Thank you, Mother. For everything you’ve done for me and for Scorpius.”

Narcissa sighed, a frown creasing her forehead as she turned away. “I’m only sorry I – _we_ – didn’t do better for you when you were a child. We thought we were raising you properly, the way we had been raised ourselves. But our thinking was flawed, and it isn’t enough to say, now, that this was just how things were done, generation after generation. We didn’t give you the time and attention you so clearly needed. And the values we taught you, many of them, were simply wrongheaded.”

“And dangerous,” he muttered, studying the pattern in the carpeting and carefully avoiding looking at his mother.

“And dangerous, yes,” she agreed, gazing beyond the French doors to the vast grounds beyond. “You know, even when we, or at least I, began to understand the folly and danger of such archaic prejudices, they were so much a part of what informed our entire way of life, and had been for so many years, that it was very difficult to simply dismiss them and walk away. Your grandparents raised me and my sisters precisely as your father and I raised you. The beliefs were what they were and never challenged. It took a very long time before I could question them openly. It really took the war for me to begin to see things differently. Your father has come a long way since then, but even now, he still has difficulty dispelling those old attitudes sometimes. It might just be the best thing for both of us that you are bringing a Muggleborn into the family.” She looked at Draco, sudden worry in her eyes. “You _are_ sure she will accept you, yes?”

Draco grinned and gave her a quick wink of reassurance. “Yes. Quite sure.”

Narcissa smiled back, visibly relaxing. “All right, then. Let me know how it goes. I’ll be on pins and needles, waiting to hear!”

He nodded, gave his mother a quick hug and kiss and went off to collect his son. It was time to get back to Hogwarts and the business at hand.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
1 May 2017  
Monday, late afternoon  
Beltane  
  
  
The knock on the door was light and quick. Hermione had nearly ignored it altogether, but then noticed the folded parchment that had been pushed beneath the door.

Her brow furrowed in surprise, she hurried over to retrieve it.  
  
_Granger,_

_Keep the tutor a couple of hours longer today and meet me by the greenhouses at four pm. It’s important._

_Draco_  
  
What on earth? Nonplussed at first, she found herself wondering… After all, it was the first of May. According to the Old Ways, that day represented a very important turning point on the Wheel of the Year. And it had seemed as if she and Draco had been heading in a certain direction, but… had she been presumptuous? Had she assumed too much? Or worse, had she misinterpreted his intentions? She hadn’t thought so, but she could have been mistaken. The timeline in which she’d envisioned their relationship progressing had felt very right to _her_ , but perhaps it hadn’t been what he’d had in mind.

Well, there was only one way to find out for sure. Hurrying into the sitting room, where Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius were busy with their lessons, she bent to speak quietly into the tutor’s ear.

“I’ve got to go out for a bit. Can you possibly stay a little later today? Till about six?”

He nodded. “No worries. I can stay another couple of hours at least, longer if you need me to.”

Rose gave her mother a quick, tremulous smile and Hermione winked. She knew that her daughter must be especially happy at getting to spend extra time with the tutor, on whom she still had a huge crush.

“I’ve got to do an errand, you lot. I’ll be back before too long,” she told them, and, slipping into her cloak, she hurried out the door, down the massive staircase, and out of the castle. The greenhouses were a quick walk from the front entrance, and she could see Draco in the distance. He raised a hand to wave, beckoning her closer.

“What’s this all about, Malfoy?” she asked, when she’d finally caught up to him. 

“You’ll see,” he replied airily, holding out his arm to her. “Come on, then.”

Before long, it was apparent that their destination was the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, not far from Hagrid’s hut. They walked only a little way in, but enough that they were surrounded by immensely tall, old-growth trees. Draco led her into a small clearing and then turned her to face him directly. 

“You know what today is,” he began.

She nodded. 

“Well, I thought it would be only right to mark the day in the manner in which it’s meant to be celebrated.”

A tiny, irrepressible smile was starting at one corner of Hermione’s mouth, but she held it in check. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Draco replied more firmly now, gazing directly into her eyes, “that I have a very important question to ask you. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I know it’s what I want more than anything. I hope it’s what you want as well.”

“Ask me,” Hermione said quietly. 

He took a deep, steadying breath and clasped her hands in his, dropping to one knee. “Hermione Jean Granger, I love you more than I thought it possible to love anyone with the exception of my son. You have literally saved my life in ways I could not have imagined sixteen months ago. Would you… would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”

He had hardly finished those last few words when Hermione flung herself into his arms and held on for dear life. He could feel her shaking uncontrollably and hoped fervently that she wasn’t in tears. In fact, she was, but as soon as he saw her face, he knew they’d been tears of joy.

“Yes! Yes, of course I will!” she exclaimed, laughing now through the tears still coursing down her face. “I thought you’d never ask!”

He sagged for a moment, feeling curiously boneless with sheer, overwhelming relief. Then her words hit him again in a second wave, and now he couldn’t stop grinning.

Twirling her around, he laughed, and she joined him. At last, they stopped to catch their breaths, and he reached into a pocket, drawing out a small, black box. 

“Open it,” he urged, eyes bright with excitement.

She did and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Malfoy, it’s beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous! Is it an heirloom?”

He nodded, taking her left hand and slipping the ring onto her finger. “It was my mother’s engagement ring, and my grandmother’s before that, going back many generations of Malfoys. Now it’s yours. If we have children –” 

Hermione blushed at that, and he chuckled fondly. “If we have a son one day, then, following tradition, the ring will go to his fiancée, if he gets married.”

“Far be it from me to break with tradition, but… What about Scorpius? Wouldn’t it rightfully go to his fiancée?” she asked.  


Draco shook his head. “Family tradition dictates that it must go to the fiancée of the firstborn son whose own mother had already worn it. Astoria didn’t want the ring. The diamonds weren’t big enough for her. If she’d accepted it, then yes, it would have eventually gone to Scorpius’ future bride. No worries, though; my mother will have a special piece for him to present to his fiancée one day.”

Hermione frowned, thinking. “What if we have only girls? Then what? It seems only fair that the ring should then pass to our firstborn daughter.” 

Now Draco laughed out loud. Hermione, ever the crusader.

“Well, then, as I understand it, the ring would go to her, but she would have to wear it on her right hand. And then, if she had a son, it would continue down the line to his fiancée, and so forth. Fair?”

Quite fair. Hermione nodded with a satisfied smile, gazing awestruck at the exquisite ring sparkling on her finger. “But… should I wear this now? Are we ready to make it public?”

This was something Draco had neglected to consider, caught up in the whirlwind excitement of the proposal. “Perhaps we should wait a bit,” he decided, “not make it official for a while. We haven’t even spoken to the kids.”

“True. There’s entirely too much gossip at Hogwarts as it is,” she agreed. “Maybe it would be best to wait until sometime after the term ends, maybe even after the summer. It’s only a few months. And it will give us a chance to feel the kids out, ease them into the idea of us getting married. I mean, it’s one thing for them to see us as friends and quite another for us to be connected in a much more intimate and familial way. It changes everything.”

Intimate and familial. Those were words that Draco was elated to hear. He would replay them later, again and again. 

“Yes, good idea. Keep the ring in a special place for now. This will be our secret. But…” He tipped her chin up, his smile decidedly wicked now. “That doesn’t mean we can’t mark our promise to each other in precisely the manner that wizarding folk have done for centuries.”

“Here? Now?” Hermione giggled, incredulous.

“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d love more than to tear your clothes off and ravish you here and now. However, I’ve already reserved a room at the Three Broomsticks for…” He checked his watch. “Exactly fifteen minutes from now. Don’t worry, Rosmerta can be trusted to be discreet. And just to be sure of that, I’ve made it more than worth her while.” He grinned and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Smiling tremulously, Hermione nodded, and they struck off in the direction of Hogsmeade.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	9. April to June 2017, Part Two

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814027703/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
10 June  
Saturday morning  
  
  
“Hugo.”

There was no answer from the boy buried under a mound of bedclothes.

“Hugo!”

The boy raised his tousled head and peered at his sister groggily. “S’ too early, Rosie. Go back to sleep,” he mumbled, pulling the covers over his head and attempting to ignore her completely.

“ _Hugo!_ ” His name was more of a hiss at this point.

There was no ignoring Rose Elizabeth Granger-Weasley when she meant business. And this morning, she had an urgent matter to discuss with her brother. She’d just turned eleven a month earlier and would officially be a first-year at Hogwarts in less than three months’ time, and so naturally, she considered that she deserved the total attention of anyone of lesser status. Hugo was still only eight. A mere child, and a boy to boot. 

Hugo sat bolt upright and glared at his older sister. “ _What?_ ”

Good. She’d got his attention at last. Rose sat up as well, pulling her quilt-covered knees up to her chin. “What do you think of Professor Malfoy?”

Odd question. “He’s cool. Why?”

“Well…” Rose began tentatively. “I think he’s awfully nice. And smart. And handsome as well.”

That last remark set Hugo to flopping back on his pillows and laughing uncontrollably. The very idea that his sister had thoughts like _that_ about their best friend’s dad was just stupid. 

“ _That’s_ what you woke me up to say?” he spluttered.

Rose sighed heavily. _Boys_. “No,” she replied with exaggerated patience. “It isn’t. I mean, it is, but not just that. The point is, I think Mummy thinks so as well. I think she likes him.”

Hugo rolled his eyes. “’Course she does, silly. We all like him.”

Now Rose’s sighs grew even more weighty. “I don’t mean that way. I mean the _other_ way.” 

Hugo looked at her quizzically. “What d’you mean, the ‘other’ way? What other way?”

By way of reply, Rose wrapped her arms around herself in a hug and made kissing noises. She’d actually had to spell it out. “ _That_ way, you prat.”

Oh! Hugo stared at his sister for a moment, totally without words After laughing for a full minute, he noted that her expression had not changed a bit. Apparently, she’d really meant it. She hadn’t been joking.

“What makes you think that?” he asked carefully.

“Well,” she replied, happy to be taken seriously at last. “Haven’t you noticed the way she looks at him sometimes?”

He really hadn’t. “How?”

“You know, all mushy, like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen.”

Hugo hooted with laughter. “You mean how you look at Stuart?” He made the same kissing noises, clutching at his heart and falling back on the bed in a parody of the lovesickness caused by their tutor.

By way of answer, Rose lobbed her pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the face. Instantly, he was up and off his bed, charging towards Rose, ready to clobber her with his own pillow. In a matter of seconds, they were embroiled in a full-on pillow fight. 

A smart rap on their door and a stern warning from Hermione had the effect of being doused with a bucket of cold water.

“Sorry!” Rose called out, and then she climbed onto Hugo’s bed. “Well, _I_ think she likes him a lot, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Hugo said thoughtfully. “But what about him? He has to like her back, right?”

Rose dismissed the question with an impatient wave of her hand. “Oh, come ON, Hugo. Who wouldn’t like Mum? She’s beautiful and smart and really nice! Of _course_ he likes her. We just have to make sure he knows it.”

“Ask Scorpius.”

It took a moment for Rose to register what Hugo had just said so casually. “What?”

“Ask Scorpius,” Hugo repeated, shrugging. “He’d know.”

“Brilliant idea! Of course! We’ll need to get him involved anyway!” High colour pinked Rose’s cheeks now and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Involved in what?” Hugo frowned. There she went again, being all weird and mysterious.

Honestly! Rose heaved another sigh and rolled her eyes. “We have to make a plan. A way to get them together for real. So they’ll get married. Wouldn’t that be great? I want Mummy to be happy. And Professor Malfoy always seems really happy when he’s around us.”

“Yeah, that’s _us_ , though. How do you know it’s really Mummy he’s happy about?”

“Look,” Rose told him wearily. “There’s only one way to find out. If we’re wrong –”

“If _you’re_ wrong, you mean,” he corrected her.

“Okay, yeah, if I’m wrong, then we’ve lost nothing. But if I’m right, they’ll live happily ever after! And we’ll have a new dad! And Scorpius will be our brother, kind of, won’t he!” She clapped her hands excitedly.

“A brother! Yeah, that’s right!” Hugo hadn’t thought it through quite to that extent. “Cool!”

Suddenly, there was a sense of urgency to getting breakfast over with and cornering Scorpius. 

“Mum! We’re hungry!” they clamoured in unison.

Hermione opened one sleepy eye, moved Lunette off her arm, and glanced balefully at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Half seven. She groaned. Were her children constitutionally incapable of sleeping until at least eight, and were they always on the verge of absolute starvation?

“Okay, keep your pyjamas on!” she muttered.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
“Where’s the fire, you two?” she laughed, watching them slurping down the last of their breakfast shortly thereafter.

“Nowhere,” they sang out together, and then Rose added, “Mum, can we spend the afternoon with Scorpius?”

“I don’t see why not, unless Professor Malfoy has other plans for him,” Hermione mused. “I’ll go and ask as soon as we’ve cleared up. What’s up, anyway? Special project for lessons?”

A surreptitious glance passed between Rose and her brother, and then she grinned. “You could say that.”

Hugo nodded emphatically.

“Well, okay. I’ll make you a deal: you lot do the washing up and make your beds, and at nine o’clock, I’ll go talk to Professor Malfoy. It’s too early now.” Hermione tossed back the remains of her coffee, took a last bite of toast, and disappeared into her bedroom to tidy up.

Scorpius was the one who opened the door when Hermione knocked half an hour later. He was still in his pyjamas and apparently had been eating breakfast. There was a telltale milk moustache above his upper lip. Hermione couldn’t help smiling. It was really rather endearing.

“Good morning, Scorpius. Can your dad come to the door, please?” she asked, reaching out to fondly tousle his hair.

“Who is it, Scorp?” came the voice from the kitchenette. A moment later, Draco appeared. He too was not yet dressed, clad only in flannel pyjama trousers and a dressing gown that hung open, his feet bare. There was a shadow of beard growth on his face and his own hair was tousled from sleep. 

Butterflies erupted in Hermione’s stomach and for a moment, she could only stare. Gods, he was so bloody attractive! Seeing him like this was a powerful trigger. Instantly, she was reminded of New Year’s Day and waking up in bed next to him, after the most amazing night she’d ever experienced. It was almost indecent, how hot he still managed to look, even straight out of bed and before even touching a toothbrush or a comb. 

Seeing her in the doorway, he ambled over with a sleepy smile on his face. It must have been evident how his presence was affecting her, because the smile turned slightly wicked as he lounged in the doorway. 

“Good morning, Professor Granger,” he murmured, his voice bordering on positively sultry. “What can I do for you?”

Loaded question. 

Quickly, she glanced up and down the corridor. Most everyone at the school tended to sleep at the weekends, so not a soul was around.

“The… uh… the kids would like to spend the day with Scorpius. Will… will that be all right?” she asked, trying very hard to keep her voice from skipping a beat as her heart was already doing. He was so close now, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, but not close enough to actually touch any part of her. 

His smile widened. “Of course. Wonderful idea. Your place or mine?”

 _Oh gods, any place with a bed!_ Swallowing hard, Hermione tried to banish that image. “Right, then. My place, as long as you don’t mind. You can come too, if you like,” she added a bit lamely. “I’ve got lessons to prepare, but we could work together. It’d be nice.”

“A peek at the future, perhaps?” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear. 

She’d had the same thought. It would be, and it was a lovely vision, to be sure. But at the same time, it was torture, being so close to Malfoy and yet pretending that what had happened between them had not happened at all, that they were still platonic friends and colleagues. That they hadn’t fallen deeply in love and become engaged. Not being able to put her arms around him and kiss him whenever she fancied it was awful. It was evident that he was feeling very much the same. The love and desire in his eyes were unmistakable.

“Don’t,” she murmured, stepping back after a light brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand. “It makes it so much harder.”

“I know. I can’t seem to help it, though,” he whispered, joking, “Maybe we’ll just have to find a broom cupboard.”

Just now, that idea was sounding pretty good. “Don’t tempt me,” she whispered back. “Right, then,” she said loudly. “Come over whenever you like, you and Scorpius. See you both later.”

Quickly, she spun on her heel and hurried back down the corridor to her own rooms. 

The two Malfoys arrived shortly after eleven, Scorpius bringing some games he’d been given recently by his grandparents and Draco pulling a bottle of very nice wine out of his rucksack.

“Unless you’d like to crack it open now,” he teased, raising an eyebrow provocatively. “Might take the edge off marking all those papers we have.”

Hermione laughed, setting the bottle down on the sideboard. “I think not, Malfoy. You’re a bad influence!”

He chuckled softly. “My goal in life, didn’t you know that?”

“Sit down and get cracking!” she teased. “Coffee?”

Soon a fresh pot of coffee was scenting the air and the two of them were immersed in their lesson preps and marking. The three children, meanwhile, were ensconced behind closed doors in Rose and Hugo’s room, barely making any discernible noise.

They sat on the floor, heads close together, talking very quietly. It turned out that Scorpius was beyond thrilled at the idea of getting his father and their mother together. He was very fond of Hermione and wildly excited at the idea of a stepbrother and stepsister he already liked so much. And in fact, he _had_ noticed a certain energy between the two adults, though he’d never quite been able to put a name to it.

“Well, it’s got to be love, then,” Rose decided firmly. “If they hated each other, I think we’d know it by now.”

The other two nodded sagely. “So what do we do, then?” Scorpius rested his chin on the heel of his hand. “We need a plan.”

“Well, obviously, the first thing is to get them together in the same place as often and for as long as possible. Like we’re doing today, for instance,” Rose replied. “They’ll be together all day, assuming your dad sticks around till after dinner. That’s great for a start. But we need to make it romantic too.”

“How do we do that?” Hugo asked plaintively. At eight years old, romance wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Music! Mum has this Muggle thing, a CD player. You put these discs into it and it plays music. No idea how it works, exactly, but we could put it on. I know what music she likes best,” Rose explained. “We’ll say we want to eat dinner in our room so they can be alone out there.”

“My dad brought a bottle of wine. I saw him stick it into his book bag,” Scorpius announced to nobody in particular. “That could help as well.”

Rose clapped her hands together gleefully. “Oh, and we’ll put candles on the table! It’ll be amazing!”

Thus, Plan A was hatched.  
  
Several hours later –  
  
The children had excused themselves, asking for special permission to eat dinner in their room. They had a project to work on, so they insisted, and they needed to continue with it uninterrupted.

“Let’s not make a habit of it,” Hermione warned them, and they nodded, going off happily, their plates in hand. The door shut resoundingly behind them and then there was silence.

When she and Draco sat down, the Spelled candles had already lit themselves. The bottle of wine had somehow moved from the sideboard to the table, and there were two glasses waiting to be filled. A wonderful dinner had appeared, courtesy of the house-elves.

Draco and Hermione had been busy marking essays by the sitting room fire, unaware of the stealthy movements of the three children. Now, as they seated themselves, the full impact of the table’s appearance was obvious, particularly when Vivaldi’s Four Seasons welled up quite suddenly at a volume that was a bit overpowering.

“Not too obvious, are they?” Draco said quietly, trying not to laugh. “I mean, seriously, every cliché in the book…”

“Well, actually, _you_ brought the wine. Oh, but they’re so sweet to have done all this!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s lovely! How funny, though, the three of them playing matchmaker!”

“Well,” he sighed, flashing her an amused grin. “I say we play along for a while. It’ll be interesting to see what else they come up with. Wine?”

She nodded happily. “To the kids,” she said, clinking her glass against his. “And creativity!”  
  
  


*

  
  
  
Days passed, each one marked by some bit of sly subterfuge. Hermione and Draco, individually and together, had the distinct impression that they were now living in a goldfish bowl. Almost no matter where they were, both could feel the presence of a small person lurking behind an armchair, hiding behind the drapes or in a cupboard or behind a door. Sometimes their shadows gave them away. At other times, it was a tiny sniffle or feet shuffling. Once it was a sneeze. Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing out loud.

On the rare occasions that they did find themselves truly alone together, the conversation tended to revolve around just what it was that the children hoped to gain by spying on them.

“Just want to know our habits, I suppose,” Draco guessed.

“As if they don’t already know our habits backwards and forwards!” Hermione exclaimed, amused. “Sorry, but that doesn’t really make any sense.”

“I reckon they’re having the time of their lives sneaking about, though,” he chuckled. “Well, one result of all this is that we’re more careful than ever _not_ to slip up.”

“Ah, the irony,” Hermione sighed theatrically. “If they only knew.”

So an impromptu game began, in which the young stalkers and their prey circled around each other, Draco and Hermione allowing the kids to get close to listen in on carefully edited conversations but no closer. They also put the occasional roadblock in the children’s path, just to keep the challenge interesting.

“Come _on_ , Hugo!” Rose hissed, beckoning to her brother one afternoon towards the end of June, just after the tutor had left. “Scorpius, you too! We need to have a meeting!”

Hermione, who was sitting in the armchair by the fire, reading essays, was careful to avoid looking up. She could hear them passing her on their way into the kids’ bedroom, and she kept her head down as they did so, pressing her lips together with repressed laughter.

The door closed with a loud click. 

“Look, you lot, we’ve just _got_ to get them alone again. I think the romance bit will take care of itself once they realise that they really like each other.” Rose regarded her brother and their friend intently. “Any ideas on what we can do?”

A thoughtful silence descended on the room as the three children considered the question. 

“I know!” Scorpius piped up suddenly, mischief in his eyes. “I’ll get really sick to my stomach here and they’ll have to let me stay because I’ll be way too ill to be moved. And then Dad will have to stay as well, because he won’t want to leave me alone.”

Rose and Hugo looked at each other and then both burst out laughing.

“That’s daft! You only live down the hall!” Hugo snorted. “Your dad would definitely take you back to your rooms.”

Scorpius frowned, chin in hand. “Yeah, I thought it sounded pretty stupid myself,” he muttered gloomily.

“ _Unless_ ,” Rose said slowly, the light of inspiration beginning to burn in her eyes. “Unless you had food poisoning. But you’d have to be really convincing. I mean, throwing up and everything. The lot. We’ll have to make you really ill. I bet your dad _would_ be here an awful lot then. He might even stay over. You know, sleep on the sofa. He wouldn’t want to leave you. He’d be really worried.” She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Brilliant!”

The three children put their heads together and continued to plot and plan, occasional giggles bubbling up and turning into shouts of laughter. By this time, Draco had arrived to collect Scorpius, and together, he and Hermione sat by the fire, listening to the evidence of their children’s high spirits. Periodically, they glanced at each other, and they couldn’t help grinning. 

“What in Merlin’s name are they cooking up in there?” she laughed, handing Draco a glass of wine and seating herself comfortably by the fire once again. 

“Evidently, something we’re not supposed to know about,” Draco replied, smirking. “We shall have to be very careful what we do and say. Cheers, by the way.”

Hermione raised her own glass and echoed his toast, a gleam in her eye now. “And be ready for anything, if I know my Rosie and Hugo. I’d give a lot for a pair of Weasleys’ Extendable Ears right about now! Shall we let them think they’ve really put one over on us?”

An amused and knowing grin spread lazily across Draco’s face and he leaned back in the armchair, stretching his long legs. “Fuck yeah. I can’t wait to see what they come up with. Given those fertile little brains, I reckon it’s going to be something spectacular.”

Several days went by without anything noteworthy happening, though there did seem to be a lessening of the sneaking about and spying that both Draco and Hermione had almost grown accustomed to. If anything, the absence of all that subterfuge was almost like an alarm bell, a warning that something else much bigger was about to happen. That possibility hung over them like the proverbial shoe that was just about to drop. When nothing happened after nearly a week, the suspense became almost unbearable.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Hermione whispered over tea in the staff room one day, between classes.

“This is a game of attrition,” Draco remarked placidly, stirring a second spoonful of sugar into his tea. “Whatever they’re planning, it’s obvious that they’re waiting until we’ve let our guard down. Then they’ll have us. Or so they think.” His grin was positively wicked. “We can play at that game too. We’ll just have to wait until they’ve shown their hand. Patience, darling,” he whispered now. “Nonchalance. They can’t know we’re on to them.”

“But we’re not, actually,” Hermione reminded him pointedly. 

“A trifling detail,” he told her airily, waving a hand about. “We don’t need to know the specifics. All we need to know is how they’re thinking and what their objective is. They’ll reveal themselves before too much longer, I’ll wager.”

“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” she teased. 

“Why, thank you,” he replied with a cocky grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment, if I may.”

Downing the remainder of her tea, Hermione stood and began to gather up her things. "You may," she laughed. "Look, I've got to run. See you later, yeah?"

Draco's grin was smug now and he gave her a quick wink. She would definitely see him later. Something told him that whatever the kids were planning, it was going to come to a head in a matter of hours.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
“Right,” Rose decided briskly. “You can do this, Scorpius! Bottom’s up!”

She held out a glass filled with an unfortunately aromatic, grey-green glop. She, Hugo, and Scorpius had spent the better part of the last twenty minutes chopping, crushing, stirring, and blending a slew of ingredients, most of which had been filched from Hermione’s kitchen. Their tutor had left half an hour before and Hermione had arrived virtually on his heels. But they’d planned this little theatrical down to the last detail. All ingredients had been gathered in advance, a bit at a time, stashed in a pillowcase, and shoved under Rose’s bed.

Turmeric, chili powder, powdered mustard, Chinese mustard, Wasabi, black pepper, ginger, Marmite, garlic, crushed hot red pepper, all of it lined up in small jars and tins, had awaited transformation. Scorpius had managed to nick jars of beetle eyes, desiccated horned toad skin, and octopus powder from his father’s private store, kept in a locked drawer. He’d bided his time and watched until one day, when Draco had finally unlocked that particular drawer. After that, the location of the key was no longer a secret. 

With a big sister’s proprietary eye, Rose watched carefully as Hugo wielded his knife, chopping his ingredients very fine, as she and Scorpius did the same. Some ingredients required further squashing with Hermione’s mortar and pestle. All of it eventually found its way to a large bowl, where Rose stirred and blended it with a base of water and pumpkin juice.

The resulting gunk was revolting to the eye and even more repugnant to the nose. Their eyes watering, all three children wrinkled their noses and made a face, and then Rose thrust the glass at Scorpius.

“Be brave, Scorp,” she told him, smiling encouragingly. “It’s for a good cause!”

“Yeah,” Hugo chimed in eagerly. “You can do it!”

Scorpius nodded apprehensively. It _had_ been his idea, of course. He eyed the turgid, foul-smelling stuff for a long moment, shuddering involuntarily, and then, holding his nose, he took an experimental sip and then a gulp.

“Down it, Scorpius!” Rose urged, her eyes unnaturally bright.

“Yeah, down it!” Hugo echoed. 

Instead, Scorpius came up for air, coughing and spluttering. “YUCK!” he choked, and both Rose and Hugo instantly clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Ssshhh!” they hissed in unison.

“Crap, this stuff is…” He stuck out his tongue and shivered, his watering eyes squeezed shut. Half the concoction was gone. “Do I really have to drink all of it?” he asked plaintively.

“No,” Rose decided, taking pity on him. “But what about one more good gulp? That should do it. Can you manage that?”

Scorpius nodded, took a deep breath, held his nose tightly, and took another large swig. Both Hugo and Rose could clearly hear his convulsive swallow.

It was the work of just a few moments to clear up the evidence. It took just that brief a time for the first signs of illness to make themselves known.

Scorpius had been sitting quietly, clutching at his stomach as it emitted loud, gurgling noises, his face slowly turning an alarming shade of green. Suddenly, he was seized by a violent retching that had him doubled over in spasms of pain and roiling bands of nausea.

“Mum!” Rose and Hugo yelled together in what they hoped were very convincing tones of alarm. “It’s Scorpius! Something’s wrong with him!”

“He’s sicking up all over my bed!” Hugo shouted, genuinely dismayed now. This had not been part of the plan, he thought, disgruntled. Why couldn’t Scorpius have thrown up on Rosie’s bed?

Hermione leapt from her chair as if stung. Brandishing a bucket she’d hastily Transfigured from a coffee mug, she rushed in and shoved it under Scorpius’s face in an attempt to catch and contain the rest of the vomit, which radiated a truly vile odour that set everyone else to retching as well.

“Open the windows all the way and then leave the room!” she ordered sternly. “And go fetch Professor Malfoy straightaway!”

The frantic pounding on his door alarmed Draco for thirty seconds. And then he thought again.

“I wonder…” he thought, one eyebrow quirked sceptically. “I wonder…”

Nevertheless, he strode to the door and yanked it open, amidst frantic yells from Rose and Hugo.

“What is it? What’s happened?” he asked quickly. 

“It’s Scorpius!” they shouted. “Come quick! He’s very ill!”

A frisson of genuine alarm flared in the pit of Draco’s stomach, and he grabbed his wand and ran with the two children back down the hall to Hermione’s rooms. He found a drained and deathly pale Scorpius lying on the sofa, a newly emptied and washed bucket on the floor next to him. Hermione was sitting beside him, stroking his hair, which was damp with beads of sweat. His forehead and hands were clammy and cold.

“What in Merlin’s name happened?” Draco demanded, looking at the three of them.

“I have no idea!” Hermione replied, obviously distressed. “I was sitting here, reading, and the kids were in their room. Suddenly, they were screaming that Scorpius was very ill. I’ve never seen anybody throw up that much!”

His son did indeed look dreadful. Draco frowned, pulling a chair over to the sofa. He sat down and studied Scorpius for a long moment, and then he leaned in close. 

“Open your mouth, Scorp,” he said gently. 

The boy complied and Draco stuck his nose closer, sniffing, his brows furrowed as he considered.

“What do you reckon made you so sick, Scorpius?” he asked quietly.

Scorpius shrugged weakly, swallowing. “Dunno,” he croaked. “Something I ate, maybe. Cheese sandwich for lunch,” he added, anticipating his father’s next question. 

“Maybe the cheese had gone bad?” Hermione suggested. “Did it taste at all funny to you, Scorpius? Like something was wrong with it?”

Scorpius thought quickly. They’d neglected to discuss this particular element of the scenario. He nodded his head. “Right. Yeah. That’s it. Tasted funny. And… and there were weird, green, fuzzy bits on it too. That’s right!”

Inwardly, Rose groaned. Scorpius was embellishing way too much. She wished he would just shut up and stick to moaning occasionally. When he wasn’t about to throw up again, that is, which he did exactly sixty seconds later.

This time, the bucket was right where it needed to be, and Scorpius emptied his stomach yet again. Everyone wrinkled their noses and began retching uncontrollably, Rose and Hugo escaping to their room before they, too, could begin to vomit.

Steeling himself, Draco held the bucket for his son, but behind his somber expression, there were a lot of questions and a good deal of doubt.

He caught Hermione’s eye and nodded slightly. This was what they’d been anticipating, he was certain of it now. There was something about the odour on Scorpius’ breath and the appearance of the sick sloshing about in the bucket that had triggered alarm bells in his head.

When the boy had finally finished vomiting, he lay back, exhausted, on the sofa, and Hermione sponged his face with a cool washcloth. Then she stood, moving to the fireplace to talk with Draco.

“They’ve faked it,” he whispered. “I’m pretty certain I recognised at least some of what’s in that bucket. I could smell a lot of it. They concocted something and then he drank it on purpose. The question is, why?”

The answer arrived in the form of Rose and Hugo, who had emerged from their room looking appropriately worried about their friend.

“Scorpius should stay here, right? I mean, he really shouldn’t go home. Not yet. He could get sick again any second!” Rose exclaimed with studied earnestness.

“Well,” Draco said calmly, “I think the best place for him would really be the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would take excellent care of him. She’d work out what’s wrong with him very quickly!”

“Oh yes, I agree completely!” Hermione jumped in decisively, sure now that Draco had hit the proverbial nail on the head. “What if it isn’t a matter of food poisoning? It could be a really nasty stomach flu. You two would be at risk of getting sick as well. And if it is food poisoning and you two ate the same cheese, you could come down with a case of it too. We really need to know what’s caused all this!”

Rose and Hugo darted nervous glances at each other and then at Scorpius, who had sneaked a panicked look at them from under half-closed eyes. The hospital wing! They hadn’t reckoned on either parent coming up with _that_ particular idea.

“No, no, he should just stay with us! I’m sure he’ll feel much better soon!” Rose looked for support at the prone, chalky-faced boy, who did a very convincing moan before realising that appearing to be on the mend was needed now, not looking like he was on the brink of death. Quickly, he offered his father and Hermione a watery smile and attempted to rise up on one elbow. 

“See? He doesn’t need to go to the hospital wing!” Rose put in hastily, now thoroughly panicked. “So… so… he could go home, if you really don’t want him to stay here. Either of you,” she added, casting a sidelong glance at Draco, who remained straight-faced.

Aha. Now they’d got to the heart of the matter. Draco bit back a knowing grin. He knew, even without looking at Hermione, that her reaction was identical to his own.

In the end, it had all been a rather daring and potentially dangerous plan to keep him there – if not overnight, then at least for hours at a stretch, in order to tend to his son, who was terribly ill from food poisoning or some such nonsense. Daring and nervy, too. Clearly, they’d wanted a way to bring him and Hermione together and keep them together for long periods of time. Little did they know that neither he nor Hermione needed any persuasion.

After a little time had passed, he got a still-shaky Scorpius to his feet and helped him to the door.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done,” he told the room at large. Rose and Hugo were looking distinctly stony-faced now, as was Scorpius, while Hermione’s grave expression belied the laughter she was only just managing to contain. “Come on, Scorpius. Let’s get you home and into bed. Goodnight.”

Later, when Hugo and Rose had returned to their room, thoroughly disappointed, they found a note on Rose’s bed. Unrolling the parchment, they read the contents, their mouths falling open.

_Good try. Quite ingenious, really. Though you could have saved yourselves quite a lot of bother if you’d simply sent an owl to your Uncle George, asking for some Puking Pastilles from the joke shop._

_Love,  
Mum _  
  
  


*

  
  
  
This latest setback was hard to ignore. For a while, the children were crestfallen, and it showed, the three of them dragging around with long faces. Hermione felt a bit sorry for them, as they’d worked so hard and so earnestly to get her together with Draco. On the other hand, Draco found the whole thing quite hilarious and he often reminded Hermione of just how amusing it was. She had to smile, of course, as in all honesty, it really was pretty funny, all these matchmaking efforts, particularly as the kids’ goal had already been achieved before they’d even begun hatching their schemes, having nothing to do with their machinations.

In any case, there was now another unavoidable factor that had to be addressed: the summer holidays. The term was ending in only a few days, and then the school would empty out, everyone heading off to their homes for the two summer months. Rose and Hugo would be in the London suburbs, and Scorpius would be in Wiltshire, at his grandparents’ estate. They didn’t have their own owls yet (perhaps they could borrow their parents’ owls?), and surely, there was no conventional mail delivery to the Manor. There was no telephone there either. None of them knew how to use the Floo network by themselves, nor did they have permission in any case. It looked as if their plans would inevitably come to a crashing halt in the next week. Their best hope would be to ask for the occasional visit or sleepover, though while that would certainly bring their parents together, it might only be for brief periods, nothing protracted and really helpful for what Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius hoped to achieve.

For their part, Hermione and Draco watched with hidden grins, listening shamelessly at keyholes when the kids got together in a huddle in their room. There was a lot of fervent whispering going on, punctuated by the occasional sigh or voice raised in momentary frustration. Once, both Hermione and Draco jumped back as a sharp thud hit the bedroom door from the inside; she guessed correctly that Hugo had just kicked his soccer ball really hard in annoyance.

Their spirits couldn’t be dampened indefinitely, and they were back to active plotting with renewed dedication. Different tack, though: nothing singularly eventful, but instead, a steady stream of requests: “Could Scorpius and his dad stay for supper, Mum?” “Can I please sleep over at Rosie and Hugo’s, Dad?” “Could Professor Granger show us the Muggle stuff in her classroom this afternoon?” “We have a project we need to do together.” “Can we go visit Hagrid with Scorpius today, please?” Apparently, their approach was one of constant, minor bombardments designed to have a cumulative effect. The more exposure, the better.

Although most of the time, Hermione and Draco went along with it (and why not, as of course more time together was great), occasionally, one or the other would say no, just for the sake of realism and to see what inventive response a refusal would engender. “All in the spirit of the game,” Draco would remind Hermione, grinning slyly. And even though she protested, laughing, that continuing to let them work so hard was just a little bit mean, in the end she had to admit that she was enjoying this harmless little deception as much as he was. Besides, the kids were obviously having a wonderful time with all their plotting and secrets. And they’d know the truth very soon in any case.

On the last day of the month, the halls of the castle stood eerily empty and quiet, the last students having exited to take the thestral-drawn carriages to Hogsmeade Station, there to board the Hogwarts Express. Draco and Scorpius had accompanied Hermione, Rose, and Hugo to the station to say their goodbyes. A year earlier, Draco had watched them leave with a flood of mixed feelings that were confusing at best. One thing he’d known, however: watching Hermione and her kids board the carriage from the vantage point of his window, and then seeing it drive slowly away, there had been an emptiness, a hole, deep in his chest that hadn’t been there before. He hadn’t been sure what that meant, exactly, only that it was uncomfortable and wouldn’t go away no matter how he tried to distract himself. Spending time getting to know his son had helped, but it hadn’t entirely alleviated the sense that something significant was now missing from his life. 

Healer Grey had gently pressed him on this point when he’d begun his sessions with her (gods, could it really have been nearly a year ago now?) and he’d been forced to admit to feelings he hadn’t named before that, not even to himself. Now, of course, things were vastly different. Everything was out in the open between him and Hermione. And Merlin above, she felt the same way about him as he felt about her! It was one of the strange, inexplicable wonders of life that he should have become so bloody lucky, after all the despicable shit he’d done in the past, all the truly terrible karma he would surely have racked up, that in the end, he’d be the recipient of this amazing woman’s heart. 

“But that’s just it, you see,” he could just hear Healer Grey saying, with a kind smile. “Love defies logic. Love also means forgiveness, when it’s honestly desired and deserved. Be the man she loves and forgive yourself at last, Draco. You do deserve it.”

Careful not to stand too close together or show any overt signs of intimacy, he and Hermione shook hands as they stood with the children by the train, which was huffing and belching steam as it prepared to depart Hogsmeade Station for London.

“Write, won’t you? And Floo call,” he murmured. “Soon.”

“Of course,” she whispered, glancing in the kids’ direction to check on them. They were standing in a huddle a little ways off, heads together.

Draco dropped her hand but continued to hold her gaze. “Very soon, yeah? It’s going to be a long summer.”

“For me too. But it’ll be okay.” Hermione smiled reassuringly, roughly wiping away the sudden tears sparkling on her lashes. She lifted her chin in defiance of those tears. “I love you,” she mouthed quickly, after looking left and right to be sure they weren’t being observed. 

The train whistle blew suddenly, the sound piercing the air and causing many on the platform to jump. 

Reaching to collect Hermione’s bags and the cat carrier and load them onto the train, he manoeuvred his mouth close to her ear for a fraction of a second.

“Love you too, Granger,” he whispered and then stepped back, watching her board and raising a hand to wave.

She waved back and smiled, pulling her kids up the boarding steps onto the train, first Hugo and then Rose. They were looking distinctly gloomy now, as was Scorpius, watching from the platform. This separation wasn’t welcomed.

“Bye!” “See you!” echoed down the platform as the train slowly chugged out of the station. Hagrid, ever present at arrivals and departures, raised a hand to see everyone off and then made his way back in the direction of the school. He caught Scorpius’ eye as he passed, and the boy gave him a small grin and a wave.

“Cheer up, young Mister Malfoy. Eh?” Hagrid grinned encouragingly and patted Scorpius on the shoulder. “Sayin’ goodbye to yer friends ain’t easy, I know. But you’ll see ‘em before too long, never you fear.” 

Then he glanced at Draco, with whom he’d had relatively cordial relations in the last several years, and decided an overture might be ventured. 

“All right there, Professor Malfoy?” he asked carefully.

Draco nodded, silent at first. Then he glanced at the speck in the distance that was the train. In a moment, it would vanish from sight altogether. 

Lifting his chin resolutely, his expression reverted to the somewhat stiff formality of his position. “Yes, of course. We’ll be away ourselves in a couple of hours.”

“Well, then,” Hagrid replied graciously, “enjoy yer summer holidays. You too, Sprout,” he told Scorpius, with a wink.

“Thanks, Hagrid!” Scorpius piped up, marginally cheered by the exchange. “Dad,” he said a moment later, as they watched Hagrid walk away, “why don’t you like Hagrid? I think he’s really nice.”

“It’s not that I dislike him, exactly,” Draco began, memories of his time as a student flashing back before his eyes. “Not now, anyway. It’s just… well, to be honest, I wasn’t very nice to him when I was a kid. I doubt he’s forgotten all that.”

“Why don’t you just say sorry, then?” Scorpius’ straightforward question hung on the air for several moments before Draco answered it. They walked on a bit.

“Very sensible. I will,” he said quietly, half to himself. Trust a child to see the utter simplicity of the solution. And add it to the list of things he needed to put right.  
  
  
  
  
  


TBC


	10. July to September 2017

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814888162/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
16 August  
Wednesday  
  
  
Healer Grey tapped the end of her quill against her bottom lip as she reviewed a sheaf of parchments in the folder marked “D. Malfoy. Diagnosis: PTSD.”

“You know, it’s been a full year since we began our sessions. Are you aware of that?” she asked, looking up at last and smiling. 

Draco was well aware. He’d been thinking about that very thing while stepping into one of the massive hearths at the Manor and tossing down a handful of Floo powder.

“Yes, though it’s hard to believe sometimes,” he mused. “I mean, so much has changed in the past year. So much that I never expected _could_ change.”

“Such as?”

Such as? The list was endless. Where to begin?

“Such as my expectations for myself, what I would do with my life. Or rather, my non-life, as it was for so long.” He laughed bitterly. “I was convinced that nothing I did could ever change certain facts.”

“Such as?” Healer Grey repeated.

“Such as the fact that I could never escape my past. That it would always be with me, haunting me, never letting me move on. Moreover, that I _shouldn’t_ be allowed to move on. That essentially, my nightmares were my perpetual penance. A nightly reminder of the harm I did. How my actions ruined lives, including my own.”

The healer shifted in her chair to lean forward on the desk, fixing Draco with the implacable gaze Draco had come to know so well. “Was the fact that you were just an impressionable boy a consideration? Or did you think that was irrelevant?”

“Harry Potter didn’t make such choices, did he!” Draco felt a surge of anger rising in his chest now. “Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom didn’t make such choices! Nor did so many others! Hell, Hermione Granger certainly didn’t make such choices, though there were plenty of others, all of them in Slytherin House, who did, tacitly or otherwise. The point is, lots of people chose differently. Something better and finer. Me? I was…” He shook his head ruefully. “I was a fucking mess for years. I’m embarrassed to even offer you the reasons. They’ll just sound like excuses.”

“Try me,” the healer said gently. “No judgements.”

“Okay, yeah, I was a kid. My parents held to a terribly flawed and dangerous philosophy and brought me up believing all that crap as well. They also brought me up to be a snob and a bully, my father in particular. It was his way. You know all this already.”

“Go on.”

“And then, too, I was jealous. I couldn’t stomach the way Potter had the limelight all the time.”

“Would you have wanted to trade places with him?” Healer Grey asked pointedly. “Consider carefully.”

Draco thought for a moment and then shook his head slowly. “No. But his reality wasn’t what I thought about when I was sixteen. I just wanted something that was _mine_ , something that proved how important and valuable _I_ was.”

“To the Dark Lord.” There was a certain heavy finality to her words. It was obvious that the name itself was toxic on her tongue.

He nodded. “Yeah. Because he was supposed to be the future of our world, if my father was to be believed. I had no reason to doubt him. And so… and so I bought into all of it, all the Death Eater shit. And after that, they had me. _He_ had me. There was no walking away. Anyone who tried was dead. Voldemort was not the forgiving sort. We all knew it.”

Draco sighed deeply. Suddenly, his mouth was dry as dust. There was a small pitcher of water on a tray on the desk, and two glasses. He leaned forward, gesturing towards it.

“May I?”

Healer Grey smiled. “Of course.”

A full glass of water was just barely enough to truly quench his thirst. But it did refresh him sufficiently that he could continue. 

“All the truly vile stuff I did, the horrors I was forced to witness, _this_ ” – he yanked up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark still etched faintly on his left forearm – “branded me for life, or so I believed. The idea that I could ever be free of all this, that I could ever be a father to my son… a _husband_ , even… it was all too far-fetched to even contemplate. And yet, here I am, and all of that is actually happening for me. It’s… it’s amazing. Thank you.”

Healer Grey smiled. “Thank yourself, Draco. You’ve done the work. But we’re not finished yet, not by any means. There is still work to do, if you’re willing to see it all the way through.”

He drew in a deep breath and grinned. “Absolutely. I’m in.”

“So,” the healer said, leaning back in her leather chair and folding her hands together. “It’s been several weeks since we last spoke. What’s happening these days in your life? Anything of interest or significance?”

“Well,” Draco began, unable to suppress a smile that grew so wide that it lit up his whole face. “In point of fact, there is. I’ve asked Hermione –Ms. Granger, that is – to marry me.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! I had a feeling you might tell me something of that nature. I assume she said yes. When?”

“We’re not absolutely sure, but probably in October. We still have to make the actual arrangements.”

“How do your children feel about this?”

Now Draco laughed out loud. How, indeed? “Well, as a matter of fact, they’ve been playing matchmaker for the last couple of months, trying to get us together. Seems they think we make a good couple. The scenarios they’ve concocted to get us together have been pretty entertaining, actually.”

Healer Grey joined in the laughter for a moment and then sighed contentedly. “Well, that’s marvelous news. Are you planning to tell the kids sometime soon?”

He nodded. “It’s all arranged. We’ll be heading back to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks. We plan to tell them then.”

“And in the meantime?” the healer asked. “How has the summer gone so far? You’re staying with your parents at the Manor, I take it?” 

Draco nodded his assent. “Yeah. It’s been okay for the most part. Bit lonely without Hermione, but busy too, with Scorpius. My parents have made an effort to be a part of our activities, my mother in particular. The kids – all three of them, Hermione’s two and Scorpius – have continued their matchmaking campaign long-distance. So far, they’ve managed to wangle a trip to the London Zoo out of us and one to the London Eye.

“After hearing my description of it, Scorpius was keen to go. Same with Rosie and Hugo. We stay at Hermione’s house overnight when we go to London. These days, the three of them are asking to be taken on a Duck Tour on the Thames. No clue what such a thing is, but Hermione knows. I reckon we’ll be doing that this weekend.” He chuckled. “These day trips and overnights have been great for Hermione and me as well, not just for the kids. And they’ve been an education in a lot of ways.”

“You’re learning how to be a father. A _family,_ ” the healer said softly. “Isn’t that so?”

It was true. Draco felt it deep in his bones. 

“Well, this is lovely news, Draco. I'm so pleased for you. You’ve come a very long way. Are you still taking the nightly potion?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She made a note in the journal she kept for his case. “Nightmares?”

He shook his head. ‘Only very occasionally now. And when I do have one, it’s much less intense.”

“Excellent. Let us schedule a session for next month, shall we?” Healer Grey rose and extended her hand. “Tell your fiancée hello for me, and go out and enjoy the rest of this lovely day!”

Draco exited with a light step and an even lighter heart. His fiancée. Their children. Their _wedding_. It was all before him now, waiting to be embraced with open arms.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
1 September  
Friday evening  
  
  
  
Summer had not yet gone, not officially – days were still lazy and hot, fanned by breezes fragrant with late-summer blooms – but it was the start of a new school term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The Hogwarts Express had arrived in Hogsmeade bang on time from Kings Cross Station in London, as it had done every year for decades. Excited students spilled onto the platform, dragging trunks and familiars’ cages behind them. First Years, timid and a bit overwhelmed, looked about anxiously, while older, more seasoned students moved with authority towards the apparently horseless carriages that would transport them to the school. Hagrid, the gamekeeper, was on hand as he had been every year for ages, to welcome the frightened little First Years and shepherd them to the boats for their crossing of the Black Lake, a rite of passage that every new student at Hogwarts experienced.

But the best part of this first day of term was the Welcoming Feast, a blowout of a meal that never failed to astonish and amaze every child with its sumptuousness and splendour, as did the Great Hall itself. 

This Welcoming Feast was special, however, and not just to the new students who gazed about them in awe. It was special as well to two of the teaching staff: the Potions master, Professor Draco Malfoy, whose son Scorpius was starting this year, and the Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Hermione Granger, whose daughter Rose was also a First Year. The two professors sat together at the staff table at the front of the vast room, watching their offspring talking and laughing together with the rest of the new students.

“Remember our first Welcoming Feast?” Hermione murmured. “Twenty-six years ago. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“How did you feel that first night?” His eyes were still on the children even as he asked.

“Scared to death!” she replied, her own gaze still riveted on Scorpius and Rose. “But I was determined not to let it show. There was so much I still didn’t know. How to be a proper witch, for instance. I didn’t have a clue, and I was so afraid it would be obvious and that I wouldn’t fit in. That I’d be sent home. I thought reading everything I could get my hands on would answer my questions.” She laughed softly, almost to herself. “I was so naïve!”

Draco chuckled, nodding. “Whereas I was sure I already knew _everything_ about being a wizard. After all, my father was Lucius Malfoy and we had money and power and loads of prestige. I could lord it over everyone and get away with it. Nasty little toffee-nosed git, wasn’t I.”

“You were, rather,” Hermione agreed ruefully, but her smile was curiously tender. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t have to agree quite so readily, you know!” he teased, feigning hurt feelings. “All right, yes. You know what I was like better than anyone, I reckon.” Taking her hand under the table, he said, just loud enough for only Hermione to hear, “And I’m truly sorry. For every mean or cruel thing I ever said to you.”

“Oh, Draco! You’ve apologised for all that more times than I can count. It’s in the past. I forgave you ages ago.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze and smiled reassuringly.

“Okay. Just as long as you promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“That if I ever backslide into old habits or beliefs – if I ever begin to treat Scorpius the way my father treated me, growing up – you’ll give me a swift kick in the arse and remind me as forcefully as you possibly can that it isn’t what I want or who I am.”

Hermione grinned. “Deal.” She glanced over at the students’ tables and clutched a fistful of Draco’s robes anxiously. “Oh, look! The Sorting’s about to begin!”

This would be the highlight of the evening, the time in which every new student would find out which house he or she belonged in. The Sorting Hat was as shabby and derelict looking as they both remembered it from their own first year. But it was as keen a judge of character as ever, and now it was ready to begin.

Professor McGonagall stood, a parchment scroll in hand, and cleared her throat with dramatic emphasis. That sound, together with a steely glance ranging around the Great Hall, quieted the place down quite effectively.

Unrolling the parchment, its length considerable, she began. “When I call your name, First Years, you will come to the front and seat yourself here, on this stool. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head and it will announce your designated house. Ahem… Marcia Allenby…”

A terrified little girl approached the stool timidly and sat down on the very edge, looking as if she were on the verge of bolting in the opposite direction.

“Ravenclaw!” the Sorting Hat shouted almost immediately, at which Marcia Allenby ran to the Ravenclaw table, with a grin of enormous relief on her small face.

And so it went. Armbruster, Astradile, Belleweather, Bingham, Bickerstaff, Clendenon, Crandall… The names and their owners continued in a never-ending parade of excited squeals and cheers as the hat barked out its decisions. With each shout of “Slytherin!” “Gryffindor!” “Hufflepuff!” and “Ravenclaw!”, furious applause erupted. Finally, Professor McGonagall reached the tail end of the Gs.

“Rose Granger-Weasley!” she trumpeted, scanning the Great Hall for a young girl she already knew well. 

Hermione, her cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright with excitement, leaned forward slightly in her chair, reaching to clutch Draco’s hand under the table.

Entirely self-possessed, Rose stood and walked sedately to the front of the room. Seating herself, she waited while the headmistress placed the Sorting Hat on her head. Several seconds passed, during which time seemed to slow to an excruciating crawl. Hermione leaned forward even more, straining to hear.

And then, “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat boomed at last. Rose grinned happily, practically skipping to the Gryffindor table. When she got there, though, a stricken expression suddenly crossed her face, and she turned to look back at Scorpius, who still awaited the decision of the Sorting Hat. He smiled at her bravely and waved. She returned his wave, looking uncertain for the first time.

“They won’t be together, I'm sure of it,” Hermione murmured. 

“I’m afraid you’re right.” Draco glanced at his son, who looked composed but a tad nervous as he awaited his turn with the hat. “No Malfoy has ever been Sorted into any house but Slytherin for more generations than I can count.”

“But will they still be able to be friends, do you think? They’re so close. It would be such a shame if that had to end.” She frowned as she considered the realities of house loyalties, rivalries, and the clique-ish nature of school life. She’d lived through it herself and knew how mean and hurtful kids could be, especially when they chose to band together with others for the wrong reasons. 

“Well, in the end, I think they will find a way, though I also believe their friendship will be tested. But of course, they’ve got another thing going for them.”

“What’s that?”

“Us. You and me. No matter what happens during the school year, they’ll still be with us for summers and holidays. Unless you’ve changed your mind…?” Draco glanced quickly at Hermione, searching her face for a hint of doubt.

She smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t be silly. Of course I haven’t. Though it’s been really hard, keeping such a big secret!”

Draco chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the kids have guessed by now. Scorpius has been giving me some very fishy glances lately.”

Hermione joined him in quiet laughter and nodded. Rosie and Hugo had been doing much the same thing, and it had been all she could do not to spill the beans.

“At the rate things are going,” Draco continued, “the whole school will know before too long. Come to think of it, Granger, we're already the perfect model of inter-house unity, are we not? If we can get along…” He leaned in as if to whisper in her ear, instead lightly brushing her cheek with a glancing, barely perceptible kiss. “Then anyone can.”

Now Hermione’s cheeks were in full blush. Somebody let out a wolf whistle and the Great Hall erupted in loud cheers and applause. Apparently, the spectacle of two of their professors sharing the briefest of intimacies was far more interesting in that moment than anything the Sorting Hat might say.

“Cat’s out of the bag now, I reckon,” Draco drawled, grinning. Then he leaned back, loose-limbed, in his chair and casually draped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

“Malfoy! You’re impossible!” Hermione laughed, embarrassed but pleased too. The cat was indeed out of the bag, at least in the broadest sense. Even Professor McGonagall was smiling as she attempted to restore order.

“Ahem!” she barked, clapping her hands twice. After a moment, the Great Hall quieted down. “To continue. Albert Heflin!”

And so it went, until finally, the Ms were at hand. “Scorpius Malfoy!”

Scorpius stood, looked around the vast room with its starry, night-sky ceiling, and then sought his father’s eye. Draco winked and nodded, the barest hint of a smile playing about his mouth. ‘Go on, then. You can do this. I’m here,’ his expression said.

The boy walked boldly up to the Sorting Hat and sat down. 

Silence.

Then the Sorting Hat began to speak. “Hmm,” it mused. “Interesting. There are many admirable qualities here to consider. Kind, thoughtful, and diligent. Brave, too. You’d do well in Gryffindor. And you’ve a good mind. Ravenclaw could be a very good fit. Yet…” the Sorting Hat paused. “Yet, I see drive and ambition as well. A genuine desire to succeed. Better be… Slytherin!”

Amidst a roar of raucous cheers from the Slytherin table, Scorpius grinned and took his place there. But even as he was being welcomed by his new housemates, his eyes found Rose’s, and in that moment, the same ambivalence she’d felt found its way to him as well.

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Draco told her, seeing her frown once again. “They’ll figure it out. We did.”

Hermione let out a tiny snort. “It only took us eighteen years!” _And a lot of bad blood!_

“Better late than never.” Draco shrugged. “Consider: who would have imagined we’d be together? In what universe would that scenario ever have been even remotely credible? And yet, here we are. And really, it’s all your doing, you know. You and your nosy, do-gooder instincts. If not for you, none of the rest of this would have been possible: my recovery –” 

“Which I'm very proud of, you know!” Hermione interrupted, smiling encouragingly.

Draco returned her smile. “I do know. Thank you. I’ve a lot more work to do, but at least I know there’s an end in sight. Then there’s my relationship with my son, growing very slowly but surely. I’d never have had that if not for you ignoring me and sticking that pretty nose where it didn’t belong. And then… us.”

“Us,’” Hermione echoed, and suddenly, her eyes were just a tad too bright. 

While they’d been talking, the rest of the Sorting had continued, concluding at last. Now the headmistress smiled benevolently at the entire student body and waved her wand. A vast array of delicious foods suddenly appeared on the tables on huge platters, and no student needed telling twice to tuck in and enjoy. As a result, nobody was paying them the slightest attention at all anymore. This suited Draco just fine.

“Us, Professor Granger. You…” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tip of one finger. “And…” He kissed a second finger. “Me. Together. Forever, I hope.” His lips found their way to her palm, where they pressed a tender kiss.

“Just try to get rid of me!” Hermione laughed, the tears still leaking from her eyes. “I love you, Professor Malfoy.”

He smiled at her, and in that smile, the many years of loneliness and estrangement from the world and from his son, and a future that had been unalterably bleak, were vanquished once and for all. “I love you too, Professor Granger.” Later, when they were alone, he would show her just how much.

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, two First Years quietly took note, even as everyone around them was still busy stuffing themselves. Later, after the feast, they would congratulate themselves on a job well done. 

And indeed it was.  
  
  
  
  


TBC

  
  


Author's note: Sharp-eyed readers may recognize the latter portion of this chapter as the epilogue from "Behind Grey Eyes." I couldn't resist incorporating it into this "missing scenes" story because the timeline flows so seamlessly. Also, I think it just might resonate more powerfully, now that Draco and Hermione's relationship history has been more fully fleshed out.


	11. Epilogue: October 2017, Part One

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50804099168/in/dateposted-public/)  


15 October  
Sunday afternoon

The day dawned bright and unseasonably mild, the deeply azure skies without a cloud. Nearly everything was in place for the festive celebration that was only hours away now. Nevertheless, Hermione awoke early, nervous flutters already plaguing her. They would, she knew, until the ceremony was over and she could finally relax, knowing that everything had gone as smoothly as she’d hoped it would. There were about a million details to make sure of, and at the moment, countless notes on her fridge reminding her of all the things she was sure she’d forget otherwise.

Had she felt this scattered and fluttery on the day she and Ron had gotten married? It was too long ago now. She couldn't remember. All she knew was, this day – their wedding day, hers and Draco’s – was causing an upheaval of nerves the like of which she had never experienced before.

The ceremony was set to begin at three. Draco would be arriving with Scorpius and his parents at about two. Her own parents had promised to come at noon to see to the kids, giving her time to bathe and dress in a relatively relaxed and calm manner. Food and flowers were already done. It would be a simple affair: champagne, hot and cold hors d’oeuvres, and cake. All of that was currently chilling in the fridge. Later the food and drink would be set out on the lace-covered dining room table, where candles, plates, cutlery, lacy napkins, champagne flutes, and glasses awaited. She’d gathered bunches of late-blooming flowers from the garden the day before, too, and now they sat in elegant, cut-glass vases there as well. She would carry her favourites during the ceremony. Kitchen chairs had been Spelled to match the ones in the dining room, and extras had been Conjured. The ceremony itself would take place in the back garden, however. There would be a small, covered table set up under the apple tree, where important elements for the handfasting ceremony would be placed. All of those items waited in a basket Hermione had already assembled and left by the kitchen door. Narcissa would take care of that when she, Draco, and Lucius arrived.

There would be only fifteen in attendance: herself, Draco, and the children: their parents, of course, Harry and Ginny Potter, Theo and Pansy Nott, and the two celebrants who would conduct the handfasting, individuals who knew them well and were central to their wellbeing in different but fundamental ways: Minerva McGonagall, the intuitive and warm-hearted, albeit brusque, headmistress at Hogwarts who had known Draco and Hermione since the age of eleven and who now counted them as valued colleagues, and Winifred Grey, the extraordinary healer who had, for the last nearly fifteen months, counselled Draco and helped him overcome the demons that had plagued his life for two decades.

Rose and Hugo came bounding down the stairs nearly two at a time, in irrepressibly high spirits. 

“Mum!” they chorused, and then Hugo uttered the words Hermione knew he would say: “We’re _starving!_ ”

“Of course you are! What else is new?” she laughed, throwing her arms around the two children and hugging them close. 

Trooping into the kitchen, the children hurried to set out silverware, juice glasses, plates, and napkins. Rose turned to her mother hopefully.

“Is there time for pancakes today? I know you’re going to be awfully busy later.”

Hermione grinned. It was still early. Two hours yet, before Tom and Helene arrived. There was plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast.

“D’you know,” she mused, as the three of them ate – or rather, Hugo and Rose ate and Hermione picked at her food, her stomach in a nervous uproar. “This is the last breakfast we’ll have, just the three of us? After this, we’ll have two new members of the family sitting at the table with us. How do you two feel about that?”

Rose stopped mid-chew and thought for a moment. “It’ll be different,” she said slowly, at last. 

“Different weird, or different nice?” Hermione asked with a little smile.

“Oh, both! First one and then the other,” Rose replied earnestly.

“Different weird but then different great!” Hugo put in. “I’ll finally have a brother!”

“And… you’re okay with sharing your room here at home? It’s only for summers, really, and two weeks during the winter holidays.” Hermione had asked these questions before and there had been quite a lot of prior discussion. Asking now was really no more than a formality, and maybe, too, a way for Hermione to be reassured a final time that what she was about to embark on was really all right with her children, though in truth, she knew that answer to that as well.

“Mum,” Rose said, her smile quite sly now. “We need to tell you something. We’re actually more than just okay with you and Professor Malfoy getting married. We’ve been trying to make you two like each other for ages, us and Scorpius!”

Both kids had smugly gleeful grins on their faces. 

“ _We_ and Scorpius,” Hermione corrected, adding “You didn’t!” in a faux-shocked voice. “Really? But we already liked each other,” she teased. 

Rose heaved a patient sigh. _Parents. They could be so thick sometimes._ “I mean _like each other_ like each other. You know. The mushy sort of liking.”

“Oh. Yes, I see,” her mother replied, nodding gravely. “That sort. And what exactly did you do, pray tell?”

At this, Hugo snorted with laughter and Rose joined him. “We faked Scorpius being sick!” he proclaimed, proud of his part in their success. “And we made up a lot of other reasons for you and Professor Malfoy to be together. You know, so you could be all _romantic_ ,” He wrapped his arms round himself and made loud, kissy noises.

“And it worked, didn’t it!” Rose declared triumphantly. “You’re really getting married!”

Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell them that she and Draco had already become engaged before their little matchmaking crusade had even begun. Instead, she merely smiled, bending to kiss the tops of her children’s heads.

“It worked,” she said softly, her gaze falling on the exquisite ring on her left hand, the Malfoy family heirloom Draco had given her and which she now wore proudly and openly. Then, catching sight of the clock on the wall, she collected herself. “And now, young lady and young man, go make your beds. Grandma and Grandpa will be here shortly. It’s almost time to start getting ready!” 

Tom and Helene Granger arrived right on time. It was clear that they were elated at the prospect of the day’s events. The mood they brought with them into the house was effervescent. Rose and Hugo rushed to hug them, their own excitement running high.

“Come see my frock, Grandma!” Rose piped up, tugging at her grandmother’s hand. They vanished up the stairs, leaving Hugo to entertain his grandfather.

“I don’t suppose you want me to see your suit, Hugo,” Tom chuckled. “Perhaps we’ll get you into the tub first and leave the bathroom free for your sister to take her time. You know what girls are,” he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They like loads of time in the bathroom to make themselves beautiful.”

“Rose will have to stay there for a week, then!” Hugo chortled, and his grandfather gave him a genial poke in the arm, clucking and shaking his head.

“Now, now,” he remonstrated mildly. “Be nice. I’ll run the bath. You be there in five minutes. Now scoot!”

Upstairs, Helene knocked twice on Hermione’s bedroom door, and hearing “Come in!” she pushed it open a little way and poked her head in.

“Hello, sweetheart. We’re here,” she said brightly. “Need any help?”

It was as if a weight had just lifted off Hermione’s shoulders at the sound of her mother’s voice and the sight of her lovely, sweet face. She could relax now, and focus on just getting herself ready. 

“Hi, Mum! It’s great that you’re here! I’m fine – well, a bit nervous, actually, to be honest!” 

“Don’t worry about a thing, love,” Helena said reassuringly. “Dad and I are here and we’ll see to everything. You just take care of yourself now. Go have a long, relaxing bath. Pamper yourself!”

Hermione grinned and embraced her mother, burying her face in Helene’s soft, perfumed neck and inhaling deeply. That calming breath and her mother’s presence made all the difference.

“Yes, all right!” she replied. “Thanks, Mum! I’m so –”

“ _Bath_ ,” Helene ordered sternly, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “ _Go._ ”  
  
  


*

The dress hung in a garment bag over the closet door, the shoes in their box on the floor beneath. Sitting at her dressing table, Hermione regarded her reflection in the mirror. Looking back at her was a young woman who had just turned thirty-seven, the mother of two growing and lively children, a gifted witch, a dynamic, talented and warm-hearted teacher, and the soon-to-be wife of a man who bore no resemblance whatsoever to the mean, cruel, entitled bully he’d been as a boy twenty-five years earlier when they’d first met, and continued to be throughout all their years at school. The evolution of their story together was a remarkable, perhaps unbelievable, one, by any standards. And yet it had happened. It was true. And this afternoon would mark the beginning of the next chapter, the long and happy one they’d share for the rest of their days, she hoped.

The insistent flutters that had died back during her long soak in the tub returned with a vengeance, driving her heart up into her throat as she tried to still her shaking hands long enough to put the makeup where it belonged on her face, without poking an eye out. At last, her makeup was done and it looked perfect, despite her nerves. Carefully, she pulled her jewelry box closer and opened it. The choice of earrings was easy; she’d wear the same lovely pair of diamonds she’d worn on New Year’s Eve when they’d shared the most wonderful, magical evening and night she could ever remember. There was a simple matching bracelet, and of course, her very special engagement ring. That would really be all she’d need. The dress itself was striking enough.

Now, then. Her hair. Picking up her wand, she waved it purposefully around her head, murmuring a styling spell. In a matter of moments, her hair was swept back off her forehead, dividing itself into several sections, and neatly weaving itself into a beautiful chignon at the nape of her neck, with small, gently waving tendrils around her face to soften the style. Perfect. Carefully, she slipped into place above the chignon the simple but lovely, little headpiece she’d found, encrusted with tiny pearls and flowers.

Suddenly, there were voices coming from downstairs and she knew that Draco, Scorpius, Lucius, and Narcissa had just arrived by Floo. She couldn’t quite make out what any of them was saying, but just the sound of their voices set off a fresh round of nervous flutters that seemed to be spreading from the pit of her stomach up to her chest. One hour to the start of the handfasting ceremony. The others would be arriving before much longer. She hoped Narcissa would remember to set out the necessary components of the ceremony. More importantly, she hoped that Draco would remember to remind her.

Gazing at herself, she felt almost as if she were looking at a stranger, someone otherworldly. Eyes huge and dark in her pale, oval face, she could almost see her heart beating in her throat. Feeling almost faint, she realised that stupidly, she’d barely eaten all day. 

“Mum!” she called softly, from the door of her bedroom. “Could you get me a cup of tea and a biscuit, please? I’m feeling a bit lightheaded.”

“Of course! Sit down straightaway and put your feet up. I’ll be back in a tick.” Helene hurried downstairs and returned in a matter of minutes.

Gratefully, Hermione sipped the honeyed tea and took a bite of the biscuit, feeling herself revived almost immediately. “Thanks, Mum. Whatever would I do without you?”

Helene laughed. “I just can’t imagine. By the way, your future in-laws seem quite pleasant, Draco’s mother in particular, though they both seem just a bit formal and stiff.”

“They’re very old-school, with a traditional, pureblood mindset,” Hermione sighed. “They’ve come quite a long way, though, I believe. They’ve been forced to. Things have changed quite a lot in the wizarding world over the past twenty years.”

“Adapt or die off like the dinosaur,” Helene murmured. “Is that about right?”

Hermione giggled as a very bizarre mental picture came to mind. “They’ve changed enough that they can accept their son marrying a Muggleborn. That would have been unthinkable in the past, before the war. It’s going to take some time, I think, for us to be anything more than very polite, but it’s a start. I believe they do regret their choices and actions before and during the war. Apart from everything else, they recognise the damage they did to Draco. At least, his mother does. Draco has told me about conversations they’ve had and what she has said.”

“Well, that’s encouraging, anyway.” Helene glanced at her wristwatch, then smiled warmly. “It’s almost time, sweetheart. Are you ready to put on that gorgeous dress?”

Hermione nodded and stood, clutching the upholstered back of the chair, while her mother carefully slipped the gossamer frock from its hanger. Cream-coloured with intricately patterned lace throughout, a fitted bodice with a rounded boat neckline just barely off the shoulder and an even deeper scoop in the back, long sleeves, and with a romantic train of floaty, diaphanous lace, the gown fit Hermione to perfection. 

Slipping her feet into the strappy, heeled sandals, she stood and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, pressing her lips together and taking a deep, cleansing breath. High, natural colour gave her cheeks a glow. She was ready.  
  
  


*

Harry and Ginny had arrived not long before, followed by Theo Nott and his wife, Pansy. Professor McGonagall and Healer Winifred Grey, resplendent in their ornately decorated dress robes, ushered everyone outside, smiling and murmuring greetings as they moved everyone into place in a large circle, at the north end of which was a small table covered in white velvet, shot through with threads of gold and silver. On the table were assembled a variety of elements that would play a part in the handfasting ceremony. Overhead, the branches of the old apple tree swayed gently in the bright October afternoon’s breeze, its fruit ripe and giving off a most delightful perfume.

Draco waited alone by the French doors that opened out onto the back garden. His heart was beating a crazy tattoo in his chest. Hermione would be here any minute. And then they would walk outside together, hand in hand. Staring out at the assembled guests – his parents and Hermione’s, his son and her two children, their long-time friends, their former professor and current boss, and the diminutive and very wise healer who had brought him so far along the healing journey – he grew so utterly lost in thought that he didn’t even hear Hermione as she approached, starting when she laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. 

Turning to face her, he was rendered momentarily speechless. And then he found his voice again, his mouth dry. He couldn’t stop staring.

“Gods, Granger! You look… absolutely amazing. Exquisite. You take my breath away!”

Smiling with shy pleasure, Hermione took his hand and squeezed it. “You look ever so handsome yourself, Malfoy.” She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, teasing laughter evident in her voice, “Are you ready to get married? Sure you want to?” 

“Try and stop me.” He smiled down at her, tucking her arm into his. “Shall we?”

They stepped outside into the warm sunshine and made their way to the far end of the assembled circle, stopping before the altar, where Headmistress McGonagall and Healer Grey waited, facing them. The headmistress took her long staff and walked clockwise, or _deosil_ , around the small party, inscribing a circle in the air just above the lush grass and then returning to her starting place beneath the boughs of the heavily laden apple tree.

“We stand before this company on this beautiful autumn afternoon to witness the joining of Draco Aquila Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger,” she began. “Let the four directions be honoured, that love, peace, power and radiance enter our circle for the good of all.

“With the blessings of birds on the wing, we call upon the powers of the East, the element of air. May the song of love be carried on the wind.” She nodded towards Healer Grey, who lit the bunch of sage and walked the circle, leaving small clouds of aromatic sage smoke briefly hanging in the air. 

Completing the circle, the healer then offered the lit candle to Lucius, who stepped forward and began traversing the circle as she called the second quarter. 

“With the blessing of the Great Stag in the heat of the chase and the inner fire of the sun, we call upon the powers of the South, the element of fire. May the flame of love warm the hearts of all people.” 

He set the candle down on the covered table. “With the blessings of the Salmon of Wisdom who dwells within the sacred waters of the pool,” he said, his voice clear and strong, “we call upon the powers of the West, the element of water. May the waves of love pour throughout the sea.” 

Narcissa stepped forward, accepting the cut-glass dish of water from her husband. With great deliberation, she walked the circle, sprinkling drops of water in his wake.

“With the blessings of the Great Bear of the starry skies and the fruitful earth,” she intoned then, returning to the table, “we call upon the powers of the North, the element of earth. May the light of love shine over the land.” As she spoke, Harry stepped forward and inscribing the circle with protective salt.

Headmistress McGonagall smiled at the assembled company. “Blessings and merry meet, everyone. We are here today to join Draco and Hermione together. They have asked you here to share in their joy, and to declare their love for one another before you, their family and friends. 

“As we come together within this circle, we also ask for the greater powers to bless this union with their positive energies. Through the presence of the God and Goddess, love and peace fill us all. In the name of the old ones, the Ancestors who gave us life and whose traditions we honour, may we all be united in perfect love. The joining together of the Groom and the Bride through this handfasting rite symbolises the sacred union within each of us. Within every masculine nature lies the feminine, and within every feminine nature lies the masculine. The joining of the two forces flowing freely in true love generates seeds of creativity and joy.”

She turned to Hermione. “Who walks the path of the Moon to stand before all present to declare her sacred vows?”

Hermione stepped forward. “I do.”

“Do you, the Bride, come to this place of your own free will?”

Her reply was immediate, her voice clear and sure. “Yes.”

Healer Grey turned to Draco then. “Who walks the path of the Sun to stand before all present to declare his sacred vows?”

Draco moved forward alongside Hermione. “I do.”

“Do you, the Groom, come to this place of your own free will?”

Draco did not hesitate. “Yes,” he smiled.

Now Healer Grey took their hands in hers, looking gravely into their eyes. “As the grass of the meadows and the trees of the forest bend under the pressure of the storm, so you too must bend when the winds of change blow. May you both stand in each other’s strength. As you give, so you will receive. May your love nourish you and keep you well.”

She smiled, let go of their hands, and inclined her head towards the goblet of mead. 

“The mead now,” she said, holding out the goblet to Hermione. “Offer some to your groom, and then he will offer it back to you.”

This they did. Draco accepted the goblet gratefully. Suddenly, his mouth had become very dry, his heart pounding in his chest. Hermione’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes told him she was feeling much the same.

“All things in nature move in cycles,” the headmistress continued. “Night becomes day, which then becomes night again. The moon waxes and wanes, then waxes again. The Wheel of the Year turns through the changing seasons. Death follows life and life follows death. These things are part of the great mysteries.”

She signalled to Helene Granger, who held a pair of circlets made from colourful autumn leaves and bittersweet woven together. She came forward with them now, handing them to the headmistress.

“Accept these circlets as a representation of this process,” she said, carefully crowning their heads with the wreaths. Then she asked, “Do you have the symbols representing the eternity of the great mysteries of life?”

“We do,” they replied in unison.

Tom Granger had been charged with safeguarding the rings. Now he moved forward with the box, handing it to the headmistress. She opened it, holding the rings up for all to see.

“By Air, by Fire, by Water, and by Earth,” she began, “I bless and consecrate these rings, a token of your love for one another. They serve as another reminder that all in life is a circle; all comes to pass and passes away and comes to pass again.

“May the element of Air bless these rings. Air is at the beginning of all things, the direction of East, and the dawning of a new day. Through the reminder of these rings, may your lives be blessed with continuing renewal of love. _Incendio,”_ she murmured, and then waved the rings through the scented smoke that suddenly curled into the air from the bunch of sage.

“May the element of Fire bless these rings,” she declared. “Fire is the passion within your love, the spark of love itself, the heat of anger, and the warmth of compassion. It is the direction of South, the heat of midday. May your lives through the reminder of these rings be blessed with continual warmth.” With a flourish, she drew each ring through the unwavering tip of the flame.

“May the element of Water bless these rings,” Healer Grey continued from there. “Water nourishes and replenishes us; the waters of emotion and harmony pour vitality into our lives. It is the direction of West, the afternoon and evening. Through the reminder of these rings, may your lives be blessed with fulfillment and contentment.” She dipped the rings into the bowl of cool water.

“May the element of Earth bless these rings. All life springs from the earth and returns to the earth, the direction of North, the nighttime. Through the reminder of these rings, may your lives be blessed with strength and solidity.” Finally, she touched the two rings to a smooth stone that rested on the table and then offered them to Hermione and Draco. “You may exchange your rings.”

This they did, each slipping a ring on the fourth finger of the other’s left hand.

Then Minerva McGonagall nodded, smiling and wordlessly gesturing to the three children, each of whom held a long, brightly coloured braid of ribbons. Together they rose and approached their parents, holding them out, as the headmistress gently placed Hermione’s right hand on Draco’s. There was a singular expression of excitement and pride on all three of their faces.

“Please lay your ribbons, one at a time, across your parents’ hands. That’s it.” She nodded approvingly at Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius. “Make sure they’re hanging evenly. Excellent. Thank you, children,” she said kindly. You may stay right where you are. I think your parents would like that.”

There were audible sighs of happiness and pride from the two grandmothers and a sniffle or two into handkerchiefs. The headmistress glanced at them and caught both Helene’s and Narcissa’s eyes with a wink. 

“Now then,” she said briskly, ever the professor. “Each of these braided strands symbolises an important element: one for Hermione and her family, one for Draco and his family, and the third one for the new life and family they will be creating together from this day forward. First, I shall bring the three strands together like so… and then tie a knot that will rest on top of Hermione and Draco’s joined hands,” she said. “Look into each other’s eyes and repeat after me: ‘I come to you of my own free will as your equal, your mate, your lover, and your friend. I give myself to you freely and without reservation.’”

Hermione and Draco dutifully repeated the words, and the headmistress continued, “With the binding of your hands, so too do I seal the bonds of your love with protective energies, to watch over your union now and forever more.

“As this knot is tied,” she went on, “so are your lives now bound. Woven into this cord are all the hopes of your friends and family, and of yourselves, for your new life together. With the fashioning of this knot, I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last.

“As any child discovers when learning to tie his or her own shoes, the first move is to cross the ends. The criss-cross creates the Rune _Gebo_ , which is the Rune of partnership and union. As your hands are bound by this cord, so is your partnership held by the symbol of this knot. May what is done here this day be not undone by man.

“And now…” She turned to Hermione and Draco. “Before all present, you may exchange your vows.”

Hermione turned to Draco, and he knew without doubt that she was very sure – about him, about their future together, and about what was deepest in her heart. Her smile was radiant. 

Retrieving a piece of parchment from the table, she unrolled it, her voice clear and unwavering as she read. 

“I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams that one day, we would be standing here together, making sacred vows to each other. But here we are. And here _you_ are, Draco: strong, really brave, and genuinely good. You are a wonderful father to Scorpius, and you will be a wonderful father to Rosie and Hugo. I know now that you are the man I have waited for my whole life. I love you now and I will love you forever.” She continued, blinking to hold back the tears gathering now on her lashes:  
  
_”I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.  
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for his love is better than wine.  
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, showing himself through the lattice.  
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one and come away.  
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine._  
  
Carefully, Draco took the parchment from Hermione. “I love you, Malfoy,” he heard her whisper, and those four simple words warmed him. “Love you too, Granger,” he whispered back. Then he lifted his head and began to read, his own voice just as steady:

“I never would have accomplished a fraction of what I’ve done in the past year if it hadn’t been for you, Hermione. First and foremost, you were my friend, even when I tried to push you away. Even when I was angry with you for interfering in my miserable excuse for a life. But I think deep inside, I recognised that there was truth to what you were saying, that what you encouraged me to try was worth the risk. It was hard, and I wasn’t always kind or open to you – or to the treatment.” 

Here, he caught Healer Grey’s eye and grinned. “I was angry a lot, and sometimes, you caught the brunt of that. But you never gave up on me. I stuck with it, thanks in great part to you, and because of that, my life has been irrevocably changed. Vastly for the better, of course,” he added, grinning. “Everything is connected, and small gains in the beginning made the larger ones possible. There is more work to do, but I am ready for that, especially with you by my side. Incredibly, I fell head over heels in love with my childhood nemesis, who became my friend, my colleague, and now, my wife. Because of you, I have my life back, and I have my son back. You are the love of my life, Hermione Jean Granger. You always will be.”  
  
_”The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;  
The fig tree puts forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.  
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.  
Thou hast ravished my heart.”_  
  
  
Winding an arm about her waist, Draco drew her close and together, they repeated, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”

There was a hushed silence, the sensual beauty, enchantment, and honesty of their words touching everyone.

Then Healer Grey stepped forward and, together with the headmistress, they continued in unison. “In the joining of hands and the fashioning of a knot, so are your lives now bound, one to another. By these cords, you are thus bound to your vow. May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last. May these ribbons draw your hands together in love, never in anger. May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths.”

Headmistress McGonagall gave them a playful wink. “Nearly done,” she whispered, and then handed one of the smaller candles to Hermione. “Now then. Repeat after me. ‘I give you the warmth of my heart.’”

With a dazzling smile, Hermione echoed the words, her eyes never leaving Draco’s. Then it was his turn. Holding her gaze, he picked up the other small candle.

“I bring you the light of my love,” he declared, repeating the Headmistress' words.

Together, they touched the flames of the smaller candles to the wick of the tall one and then snuffed them out with a shared breath.

Now Minerva McGonagall smiled warmly and said the words they’d been waiting to hear. “Two have now become one. You may seal these promises with a kiss.”

In that moment, nobody else existed in the world. There was no sound but the beating of their hearts. Slowly, he cupped her face in his hands and bent his head, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that held in it all the love he now knew was real and lasting. She was his and he hers. In that moment, the pain of the past fell away. Not gone, not entirely, he knew, but no longer defining his life. There was a new focal point now, a way forward. Hermione stood before him with a joyful smile, her eyes shining with happy tears. She was all he could see.

Winifred Grey laid her hands on both of theirs, still bound together. “Draco and Hermione, from this moment, may you walk life's long path together. Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and feel the strength of your bond grow. It is with great happiness that we present you to the community as husband and wife. May you always remember the love that brought you here on this day. We ask this in the name of the God and Goddess, Father Sky and Mother Earth. May they bless this union. _Awen_.” Extending an open palm to the gathering, she invited everyone to repeat the ancient invocation, and then she smiled warmly. “You are now handfasted. Slide your hands out of the knot. Then each of you grasp your end and pull tightly to create a lasting knot.”

This they did, unable to stop grinning at each other. It was done. They were married.

At a nod from the healer, Minerva McGonagall then spoke the sacred, ancient words to unwind the circle, holding out her staff and walking anti-clockwise, or _widdershins_ , now. Then she faced the assembled guests.

“The circle is now open but unbroken. Family and friends,” she announced, beaming, “may we present Draco and Hermione Malfoy!”

Laughing, Draco seized Hermione and kissed her soundly, to the cheers and wolf whistles of the guests. When he released her at last, she was flushed and laughing too, and together, they received everyone’s heartfelt hugs and congratulations. 

“Mummy,” Hugo asked plaintively, tugging at her sleeve. “Are you going to be Hermione Malfoy from now on? Or is it only for today?” 

Hermione chuckled, tousling her son’s soft hair fondly. “I shall be Hermione Granger-Malfoy from now on, sweetheart. Will that be all right?”

Hugo considered that for a moment, and then he nodded seriously. “Yes, that sounds okay. But… will I still be Hugo Granger-Weasley? And what about Rosie?”

“Your names won’t change. No worries,” she reassured him with a smile. 

“But…” Hugo was clearly still confused. “What shall we call Professor Malfoy?”

Now there was a question Hermione really hadn’t given much thought to. “Well,” she began slowly, considering, “I suppose you could call him Draco, if you like. ‘Professor Malfoy’ is far too formal now. Or… you could call him ‘Dad,’ if that feels comfortable.”

Ron had died literally half Hugo’s life ago, when he was not yet even five years old. By now, the boy’s memories were already becoming blurred and thready. While she and the Weasleys had done what they could to keep the memories alive – keeping Ron alive for his children by way of stories, shared memories, photos, and personal keepsakes – it was a difficult, uphill road, everyday life steadily pulling Hugo and Rose away and into the future. At this point, Ron was far more phantom than even the memory of flesh now, hardly more than a photo in a silver frame on the mantle.

 _Dad._ Hugo considered this for a moment. “Will he mind that, do you think?”

Hermione bent to draw her son into a tight hug. “No, darling,” she murmured into the tufts of hair on top of his head, blinking back tears for the second time that afternoon. “He won’t mind that at all.”  
  
  
  
  


TBC

__

__

Hermione’s wedding dress

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816027676/in/dateposted-public/)

Wedding dress, back view

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50816028291/in/dateposted-public/)

Hermione’s wedding hairstyle

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50815281223/in/dateposted-public/)

Wedding hairstyle with headpiece

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50815277628/in/dateposted-public/)

  
  


Wedding bouquet by Heart & Soil Flowers, Newburgh, NY

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50830360662/in/dateposted-public/)


	12. Epilogue, October 2017, Part Two

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/36691636@N04/50814027703/in/dateposted-public/)  


  
  
  
  


“Congrats, Malfoy. All the best.”

A familiar voice, albeit one he hadn’t heard in quite some time, sounded behind Draco’s left shoulder. He turned quickly to find Harry holding out his hand with a small grin.

He knew that Hermione had told her old friend some time ago about their evolving relationship; she and Harry were still very close. Not surprisingly, Harry had known only too well the insurmountable abyss that Ron had got himself into with his gambling. Not only was he personally involved as Ron’s closest friend and brother-in-law, but his work as an auror brought him into contact with the dangerous underbelly of wizarding society. Harry knew very well what Ron’s disastrous behaviour had done to his wife and children, ending ultimately with his own death.

Nevertheless, Draco knew that it must have cost Harry at least some small amount of discomfort or awkwardness, seeing Hermione in this new phase of her life. And yet, he had been gracious enough to offer his felicitations and his hand in something approaching friendship.

“Thanks, Potter. Appreciate it,” he replied, still a bit guarded, shaking Harry’s proffered hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s Hermione. I wouldn’t have missed it.” He paused, glancing away for an awkward moment, and then his gaze returned to Draco. He dropped his voice.

“Look, Malfoy. _Draco._ We can’t erase the past, yeah? But we can put it behind us, at least. For Hermione. What do you say?” 

There they were, the words he’d known were coming at some point. Here, too, was his chance to make amends for years of enmity to someone else to whom he owed at least that much. 

When it came right down to it, the words he’d really wanted to say were much more difficult to get out than he’d expected. All he could do, in that moment, was nod silently and grip Harry’s hand, prolonging the handshake, and hoping that enough of significance was being conveyed without words. Perhaps the words themselves would come more easily at some future point.

“Sounds good. Thanks again, Potter. Enjoy the party,” he replied at last, inclining his head towards the candlelit table where the food and drink awaited.

Harry nodded, moving off towards the tray of canapés and the champagne flutes. Draco watched him retreat, relieved that the one encounter he’d been most uneasy about was now over and done with. He could relax and fully enjoy his own wedding reception now. His eyes were drawn immediately to his brand-new wife across the room.

Hermione was mingling with the guests, smiling and laughing and looking absolutely breathtaking. He couldn’t help but feel amazed that this was actually his life now, that _she_ was central to it in the most important and meaningful ways. He thought back to his first wedding reception: a huge, gauche affair at the Manor (because of course, Astoria wanted the biggest and the most pretentious wedding she could manage, even if that meant that her own parents’ home was simply not good enough, large and grand as it was). After the ceremony, he’d found himself wandering about the Grand Ballroom almost aimlessly, crushes of wedding guests squeezing past him to get to the bride (the majority of guests were her people), and squeals of excitement and loud, pointless chatter swirling about his head. He might as well not have been there at all, and after the obligatory first dance, his head pounding, he slipped outside onto the terrace and stayed there for as long as he could. It was his first real clue about the true nature of the marriage into which he’d just entered, and it wasn’t a happy realisation. 

The marriage, such as it was, had gone downhill almost from that day. But today… today was and would be markedly different in every conceivable respect. Hermione and Astoria were a study in contrasts. Polar opposites, really. Their families and upbringings couldn’t have been more different as well. Narcissa had been spot on when she’d remarked that bringing a Muggleborn into the family was perhaps the best thing to happen to the Malfoys in generations. Draco heartily agreed.

Moving to Hermione’s side, he slipped an arm around her slim waist and hugged her close to him, looking down at her upturned, smiling face and feeling a big smile of his own coming irrepressibly on.

“Happy?” she whispered, her eyes shining.

By way of reply, he bent his head and kissed her deeply and very tenderly. He could hear wolf whistles from Harry and Theo and cheers from the three kids, who were now jumping up and down and hugging each other gleefully.

“Go, Dad!” Scorpius called out, grinning. 

“Woo hoo!” Rose cheered, unable to hold back her giggles. Seeing her mother that way was truthfully a bit embarrassing ( _Come on, Mum! Really?_ ), but she was absolutely delighted, nonetheless. It’s what she, her brother, and their new stepbrother had worked so hard for.

Professor McGonagall and Healer Grey had been deep in conversation for the early part of the afternoon, though eventually, each circulated to exchange pleasantries with the other guests, particularly the Malfoys and the Grangers, who had naturally gravitated towards each other as the parents of the bridal couple. Harry and Ginny had found themselves comparing notes on parenting pre-pubescent kids with Theo and Pansy, as both couples had children in their first year at Hogwarts. The atmosphere was entirely relaxed and informal, everyone left to enjoy the afternoon in his or her own fashion. The champagne flowed, the canapés were delicious and plentiful, and from the kitchen, the lovely scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the dining and sitting rooms, where the guests were comfortably arrayed.

“Lovely, wasn’t it?” Helene murmured to Narcissa, as they sipped their champagne. “I’d never had occasion to experience that sort of ceremony before. I must say, it was very moving and terribly romantic!”

Narcissa turned her head to study Helene for a moment. Then she smiled. “I’ve always thought so. Though not all handfastings are the same, you know. Some are much more thoughtfully planned and written than others. This one really felt personal.”

“For both our children,” Helene declared. “We haven’t had the opportunity to really get to know Draco yet, but I’m looking forward to doing so soon. And you and your husband as well,” she added quickly. “You must come to dinner sometime. Tom and I would love to have you.”

As outlandish as such an invitation seemed on its face, Narcissa found herself appreciating the obvious intention behind the gesture. Helene Granger was a genteel, gracious, educated woman who had somehow produced a magically prodigious child. They were family now. Contact was inevitable from here on. Making the best of it was the only option, and Narcissa was determined to do so, for her own sake as well as for her son’s. Lucius would simply have to accept the inevitable.

Minerva McGonagall had rarely had a better day in recent memory. This one would go down in her Book of Days as a shining example of what can happen when people discover and act upon the best in themselves. Six of her former pupils were here together, celebrating a truly joyous occasion. Two of them, the bride and groom, had found their way to each other despite overwhelming odds against such a union. They were also her colleagues now, and she couldn’t think of anyone in her many years at Hogwarts who had done their jobs better. And best of all, the next generation were now at the school, beginning their journey there. 

She found herself filled with a burgeoning joy and a sense of immense satisfaction. After the terrible and tragic upheaval of the war two decades earlier, it had taken the wizarding community a very long time to find its way back to any sort of lasting normality. But eventually, it had happened. This marriage between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was emblematic of so many others like it now, uniting pure-bloods with anyone of their choice, be they pure-blood, half-blood or Muggleborn. The very thing that Voldemort had worked so hard to vilify and prevent had happened in spite of him and his vile, murderous rhetoric and the war that had destroyed untold numbers of people. And that was the real victory, the headmistress decided.

After warmly congratulating the bridal couple, she hurried over to Harry, Ginny, Theo, and Pansy, embracing them all happily and plunged into catching-up conversation. Meanwhile, Winifred Grey approached Draco and Hermione, who were, for the moment at least, alone and contentedly watching the proceedings.

“Congratulations, you two. What a lovely day this has been!” she declared, catching their hands in her own. “I am so pleased to have been a part of it. Thank you again for asking me!”

“Thank _you_ for all you’ve done for me, Winifred. I don’t know that I’d ever have got to this point without our sessions,” Draco replied frankly. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” Hermione chimed in. “We’re in your debt.”

“Nonsense! Draco did the work. I only guided him when he needed it. I asked the questions, but he found the answers. And you will continue to do so, I feel certain,” she added sagely. “Perhaps a meeting once a month for now, and then, soon, once every couple of months. You can cut back on the nightly potion if you’re ready, which I believe you are. Would you be comfortable with that?”

He would indeed. Holding out his hand, he grasped hers in a fond handshake.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
The children had been happily running in and out of the house, playing in the garden, charging up and down the stairs to their bedrooms, and having a fine time while the adults made small talk, ate, and drank. Now, however, a time-honoured tradition was about to take place. Quickly, Helene Granger gathered the children up and shepherded them downstairs. It was time for the wedding toasts and for the bride and groom to cut the cake.

Once everyone had a glass of champagne in hand, Tom Granger stepped forward, clearing his throat and smiling broadly as he fished a small piece of paper out of a pocket. Glancing down briefly, he began to speak.

“As the father of the bride, it’s my great honour to give the first toast.” He raised his glass and turned to face Hermione and Draco, who stood close by, arms about each other. “Hermione, your mother and I have always been proud of you, but never more than we are today. You came through a very difficult time in your life, bearing a terrible loss with dignity, fortitude and grace. You held your family together, always putting your children first and making sure they never lacked for anything, even taking on a new position that meant a radical change in your life and in the lives of your children. You accomplished all this on your own. But as much as we admired your strength, determination, and independence, we always hoped you would not go through the rest of your life without love – real love. Happily, your decision to return to Hogwarts changed everything. Because now, sweet girl, you have truly found the love of your life. We could not be more pleased – for you and for Rosie and Hugo. We welcome Draco and Scorpius – and by extension, Lucius and Narcissa – to the family with great joy and open arms. Please raise your glasses, everyone. To Hermione and Draco!”

“Hermione and Draco!” the assembled company responded resoundingly and took a drink.

Then Lucius stepped forward, to everyone’s surprise. “Thank you, Tom. I have just a few words to say, but they must be said.”

Draco stiffened. He’d had no clue that his father had planned on offering any sort of toast. Glancing at his mother, he observed Narcissa’s surprise as well. But Hermione looked serene and untroubled.

“I’ll be brief,” Lucius continued, gazing about at the guests, who now regarded him with quiet gravity. “Quite simply, I wish to thank our new daughter-in-law for saving our son’s life. I don’t mean that in the literal sense, of course. However, it is evident that because of her intervention –her insistence on helping him even when her help was rejected, so Draco has told us – he is now well on the way to a happy, fulfilling life, reunited with his son and free of the pain he’d carried for many years. The past has haunted him for a long time." He paused for a long moment, and his eyes darkened with the memories. "It still haunts all of us who lived through it. But he was a mere boy when he was drawn into situations that nobody should have to experience at any age. I... well... " He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Suffice it to say that mistakes were made. So his return to health and his discovery of love are particularly meaningful for his mother and me. Welcome to the family, Ms. Gr – that is to say, Hermione. Welcome to your children and to your gracious parents as well. Thank you for returning our son to us.”

There were murmurs of “Hear hear!” as everyone raised their glasses once again. Blushing, Hermione smiled at Lucius. Draco nodded his surprised appreciation, to which Lucius smiled briefly, inclining his head in a slight nod.

Then Harry stepped forward. “I’d like to make a toast as well, if that’s okay. I just want to say… Hermione, I have never seen you as happy as you are now and have been all year. It’s pretty obvious why.” He inclined his head in Draco’s direction for a moment and winked. “You deserve everything this life can offer. No looking back. No regrets. Go forward with joy.” He raised his glass for the third toast. “Hermione and Draco!”

“Hermione and Draco!” echoed the others, downing more champagne, and then they thronged around the happy couple, showering them with hugs and best wishes.

“Ahem! A word, please!” Minerva McGonagall reclaimed the others’ attention in the commanding way of a seasoned professor and headmistress. She beamed around the room at everyone. “I should like to add my two knuts as well. I have known the bride and groom since they were children. I have watched them grow, and I’ve seen both of them weather truly dreadful times. It’s no secret that they didn’t like each other much as kids.” 

An undercurrent of knowing chuckles rippled around the room.

“That’s an understatement!” muttered Pansy and Ginny in unison, and everyone laughed some more.

“But what a marvellous turn of events that both of them should have wound up teaching at Hogwarts two decades after they’d left, and that such a situation should have brought them together in this very happy way. I am very pleased that I was able to play my own small part in engineering this lovely outcome.” She coloured slightly, unable to repress a pleased and very satisfied smile. “Oh, and never fear, my dears,” she added, addressing the bridal couple directly now. “We shall make other living arrangements for you and the children once you return from your honeymoon. I have already begun scouting out other possibilities around the castle. In the meantime, here’s to the bride and groom!” 

“The cake!” a small voice piped up, cutting through the chorus of voices echoing the final toast. “Don’t forget about the cake!” It was Hugo, who had been greedily eyeing the elegant, three-tiered creation that Helene had just brought out from the kitchen and set down on the lace-covered dining room table. 

“Oh, of course! Can’t forget the cake!” Hermione laughed, taking her son’s small face between her hands and planting a kiss on the top of his head. 

Grabbing Draco’s hand, she moved to the table and took up the silver cake knife, casting a sideways, smiling glance at her new husband. “Shall we?”

Draco grinned, laying his hand over hers on the handle of the knife. “Of course.”

Slicing cleanly through the peaks of whipped cream into the luscious chocolate ganache inside, they manoeuvred a generous slice onto a plate.

“Ready?” Hermione teased. At Draco’s nod, she forked up a large bite and shovelled it into his mouth just as he did the same for her. Whipped cream coated both their upper lips with sweet, creamy moustaches, and then Draco grabbed Hermione at the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to his. Cheers and whistles rose up all around them as the kiss went on, until finally, they broke apart laughing and in need of a napkin or two. 

The celebration went on quite a while longer, nobody wanting it to end. There was music from Hermione’s CD player, and everyone got up and danced, even Lucius and Narcissa. Watching from their spot on the stairs, tired but very happy, the three children enjoyed a bit more cake, traces of it plastered to their cheeks and chins. 

“ _We_ did this, you know,” Rose remarked matter-of-factly and with evident satisfaction. “Dunno what Professor McGonagall thinks she did, but this is all down to us three.”

Scorpius flashed a devilishly smug grin very reminiscent of his father’s. “Yeah. It is. We did great.”

Hugo, who was close to dropping off, roused himself sufficiently to voice his agreement. “We did better than great,” he murmured proudly. “Go us!”

Rose and Scorpius glanced at each other, laughing as they watched Hugo’s eyelids flutter and then close. “Go us!” they echoed happily. Nothing would be the same from here on, and that was fine with them.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
16 October  
Monday, late morning  
  
  
“Mmm…” Wiggling her toes in the warm, foamy bath water, Hermione closed her eyes blissfully. Opening them a crack after a moment, she smiled slyly to herself and began walking her toes up Draco’s submerged left leg, meandering over his ankle, skating over his calf and then his knee, and making her way up the sensitive inside of his thigh until she reached her desired destination.

“Wake up, Malfoy,” she murmured, pouting prettily. “I’m feeling lonely over here.”

Draco was hardly asleep, though in truth, he had been dozing comfortably in the warm water. But at the touch of Hermione’s toes, all of him awoke instantly, in particular his sensitive nether regions. He could feel her gently massaging his stirring cock and balls with the tips of her toes. She was looking decidedly wicked now.

“Two can play at that game, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said quietly, his smile wolfish. 

“Is that so?” Her naughty smile deepened. “Well, why don’t you just show me instead of _talking_ so much?”

“Is that a challenge?” His own right foot was now duplicating the journey in reverse, finding its way to Hermione’s inner thighs and wedging itself between them. “Because if it is, darling, you’re going to lose.”

“Oh no,” she replied softly. “I can’t lose, no matter what.”

At that, he moved his foot just high enough that he could tickle her most private parts with the tips of his toes, massaging and lightly penetrating her so that she threw her head back on the tub cushions, sighing with pleasure.

“Mmm, more please!” she murmured, her eyes still blissfully closed.

Swiftly, he wrapped his legs around her, drawing her very close and bending his head to capture her mouth, then pay homage to the slender column of her neck, revelling in her beauty and softness. She sighed again, arching her back to give him even greater access, and for a time, he devoted himself quite pleasurably to tonguing and kissing her everywhere he could reach.

She was like jelly in his hands now. He knew it, and he grinned smugly. Time to finish her. Slipping a hand beneath the water, he began a gentle exploration of her most private parts, already swollen with arousal. As he did so, he took her mouth with long, deep kisses, until he could feel her breathing change, becoming more shallow and needy. 

He was feeling needy as well, his cock turgid and erect beneath the water. Pulling her even closer, he slid inside her to the hilt and began a rhythmic, back-and-forth movement. Water slopped over the side of the tub onto the marble floor, but neither of them noticed. She joined the rhythm he had set, pulling him in ever more deeply as they rocked back and forth with increasing intensity. 

Arching her back again, she offered him her breasts to suckle with a certain desperation borne of need now, and gladly, he accepted her gift, kissing one breast and then the other and laving her nipples until they were almost painfully sensitive. Almost there. And then he exploded, shooting his seed deep inside her as she shouted her own release.

They stayed entwined for a long time as their breathing slowed to deep, shuddering gulps of air, arms and legs closely entwined, Hermione’s head resting on Draco’s shoulder, his cock still filling her.

“Gods,” he whispered into her damp hair. He could feel her stirring in response. “I love you!”

“I love you too, Malfoy. More than I can say.” Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she raised her head to smile at him. “It was a great wedding, wasn’t it?”

“Perfect,” he sighed, fully recovered now and pleasantly sated. “I didn’t know my father was going to say anything. Still a bit gobsmacked, I must admit.”

She nodded, smoothing some wet strands of hair out of his eyes. “What he said was lovely, though, don’t you think?”

“It was, but let’s not talk about my father right now, yeah?” he laughed. “I’m famished. Shall we order breakfast in the room or go to the hotel café?”

The hotel in question, Vintry and Mercer, was now officially _their_ place in London. They would return to it as often as they could for special occasions and the odd weekend getaway. 

“Oh, room service, definitely. And I know exactly what I want!” Hermione said, clapping her hands together in delighted anticipation.

Draco couldn’t help grinning. She was absolutely adorable, all the more as he got to know her better and she showed him more of her secret self.

“What shall we do today?” he asked, as they dressed later. 

They had two whole days in London, in which to do whatever they pleased. Short honeymoon, more a preview of a longer, proper trip to be scheduled over the winter holidays. The Grangers would stay with the three children until Draco and Hermione’s return on Wednesday morning. Then, all of them would journey back to Hogwarts together.

“Let’s just play it by ear, shall we?” Hermione replied airily. “I’m not bothered as long as I’m with you. Oh, but…” A huge smile broke over her face. “What about the British Museum? It’s marvellous! You’ll love it! And then…” she carried on, a plethora of additional suggestions popping off one after the other.

Draco smiled fondly, glancing over at her as she talked excitedly, her expression animated and so wonderfully alive. Life would never be dull with her. They would always challenge each other, intellectually and in every other way. She would poke and prod him into confronting issues, never letting him get away with complacency. There would be arguments, too, but there would also be time afterwards to talk quietly and sort things out. He found himself quite content with all of that. They belonged to each other and that would never change, not if he could help it. 

Time to get on with the day and with all the rest of their days together.

He was ready.  
  
  
  
  


FIN 


End file.
